


with difficulty, to the stars

by sonnelullaby



Category: Elsword (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2018-12-17 02:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 29,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11842092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonnelullaby/pseuds/sonnelullaby
Summary: luciel-centric drabbles. mostly canon-verse, some au. characters, pairings listed at the top, if applicable.





	1. 1; rg, dl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1; Royal Guard, Dreadlord
> 
> mostly a character exercise. it’s five am and these goofballs are awake for some reason. they chat. nothing actually happens.

the early morning is crisp and cold, Ciel notes, as he pushes the large glass windows open. he tightens his cuffs, taps his shoes against the ground, and looks into his reflection in the window. after a thoughtful second, he adjusts the white silk bow around his collar. it’s four-thirty in the morning and he needs to start baking Lu’s scones.

the house is empty, quiet, too early still for the birds to begin their song. he makes his way down the stairs to the kitchen, where the stone countertops are pristine, just as he left it last night. when he starts the coffee machine, he notices the sugar and cream neatly arranged behind the tin of coffee beans.

perhaps, he’s underestimated how much of himself he can see in his half-demon alternate.

Ciel’s midway through kneading the dough when he hears the door creep quietly open.

“you’re up too early as usual.”

he doesn’t respond immediately, noting acutely the thick silence that spreads between them. when he hears the clink of a cup against the counter, he dares to glance to his side, where the white-haired man is handling the pot of coffee. vested already with his silk tie, his knives tucked into his belt, the Dreadlord picks up his coffee and downs it in one go, twisting his expression in distaste. Ciel holds in a small chuckle, and resumes cutting the dough into neat triangles.

“how did your baking go last night?”

Dreadlord doesn’t reply immediately, either. it seems both of them still have their reservations, even as Lu and her cheerfully vengeful counterpart, the Chiliarch, seem to already have grown used to each other, waxing nostalgic about their shared pasts over tea.

probably a demon thing.

“the chocolate took nearly the whole night to set,” his alternate finally answers, pouring another cup of black coffee for himself. this cup, he replaces on the counter slowly, gazing into the cup meaningfully. “I decided to start on some marshmallows and licorice and… well, let’s put it this way: if Lu decides to stay, you might need another fridge.”

Ciel chuckles as he arranges the scones on the floured pan. it comforts him to know that even in another timeline, he still loves baking, even though his time is monopolized by missions and murders. “the cookies you made yesterday were impeccable.”

“one of Lu’s favorite variations,” Dreadlord replies, and Ciel has to quickly correct his own thoughts for which of the two Lu’s he’s referring to. “I’ll leave you the recipe later. brown sugar, chilled... Lu likes them fresh out of the oven, but that doesn’t usually happen.”

Ciel turns to the sink, flushing warm water over his chilled fingers. “Chiliarch mentioned that you two were returning to your demon world for awhile.”

“yea,” Dreadlord says, clipped. his arms are crossed, and he leans back against the counter. “today. some sort of demon uprising or something. Lu loves that kind of thing. well-- crushing it, mostly.”

“do you?” Ciel turns off the faucet and wipes his hands dry on the kitchen towel. the brief silence is palpable.

finally: “wherever Lu goes, I follow.”

when Ciel glances at him, there’s a distance in those eyes. he doesn’t ask, shifting his gaze away carefully, taking into his hands their Victorian teapot. there’s another long pause, when he offers, “well, before you leave, would you like to join me for breakfast?”

Ciel looks up to see the edge of the other man’s lips lift in a small smile. “would be nice, yes.”


	2. 2; db, dm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2; Diabla, Demonio
> 
> theirs is a story of tragedy. when he died, she refused to lose him again. but she couldn’t save him.

she who was cursed to wither away in eternal solitude, who is weakened by her escape to the world of humans, is saved by a man who wants nothing but to see her smile. she, in the comfort of his companionship and unwavering loyalty, relearns the sweetness of happiness and the warmth of love. with him standing by her side, she reclaims the mantle of her former image and the power of her former self, but when she finds herself with his unconscious soul in her hands and his life fading before her eyes, she, because she can no longer imagine a world without him, forces him to live.

he who exists perpetually drowning, loses all sense of self and becomes a soulless vessel, overwhelmed by her irrational will. he whose judgment becomes so clouded that he is unable to determine right from wrong, should from should not, and for whom every image is enveloped by an impenetrable fog, is haunted by the promise that nothing he sees or hears is certain and real. and in his silent blindness, he takes the nearest hand offered to him, to guide him through the darkness that suffocates him, unaware that the very hand that pulls him to the surface is the same hand that pushes him deeper into the abyss.

because she exists for no reason but to protect his shattered soul. and he exists for no reason but to remain with her. he has sacrificed his humanity to trade death for purgatory, exchanging his free will for blind obedience. she has discarded her dream of reclaiming her place in the hierarchy of demons, choosing instead to exact absolute vengeance against the world that denied her her only happiness. she tires of the power and prestige, toys with and taunts the beings who sought to destroy her weaker self, and buries the world with gleeful madness and indiscriminate rage.

because she was so desperate when she stood alone at the crossroads of life and death, she will kill and kill and kill many times over to become strong enough to save him.

(but the more powerful she becomes, the more he drowns. the closer she holds him, the more she strangles him.

he is her salvation.

she is his damnation.)

and he will not oppose her. (he has lost the awareness to believe that she could be wrong long, long ago.) he will follow her to the ends of the world to protect her, even if it means losing sight of everything but her. for her, he will become her sworn servant, a wordless puppet and living weapon. even as his blood runs black, his blood does not run dry, because no pain is too much for him to endure for her.

because there is still the bit of him within him, that grows quieter and quieter, that loves her still, that knows it is the insanity of love that drives her mad. there is still that bit that prays and hopes that she can still be saved even though he cannot be saved himself, still that bit of him that believes that they can both be saved, if only she could become stronger.

but there is still a bit of human within him and it is that bit that will remember and pause. that human part of him that grows weaker and weaker that still remembers who he was and who he used to be, realizes and sees -- that although she smiles, although she laughs, something is _wrong_. and he will stop for just long enough for her to hesitate, for her to remember her tears and his love and him and _herself_ and all the tiny things that endeared her to him, for her to realize that they cannot continue on this path of mutual destruction -- for her to understand that the very act of keeping him alive only kills him more and more and more.

he will resist, just to give her enough time to stop herself -- and him.

in their darkest moments, he will reach up to pull her back down and she will reach down to pull him back up.

(it is only when he no longer has the will to stop her, when he no longer remembers himself under the crushing weight of her demonic power overflow, that he-- they will truly die.

she will not let him die.)


	3. 3; nb, rg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3; Noblesse, Royal Guard
> 
> they have tea and discuss the true strength of their demon lord counterparts (read: Noblesse enjoys her tea and talks at Royal Guard).

it is mid-morning tea and Lu has lowered her cup from her lips. Ciel’s standing beside her, a tray in his arm, as she regards her teacup with a calm eye.

“Ciel, do you know what _Chiliarch_ means?”

Ciel gives Lu a curious glance. he knows the Chiliarch-- her alternate self, a brutal demon of vicious destruction, with a smile sweet of tenderness and eyes shining with innocence. she is nothing at all like Lu, whose very presence effuses nobility and infuses in every motion sweeping elegance.

but for the meaning of her title-- no, he does not.

“allow me to explain,” Lu says, reading his thoughtful look. “the demon world of old was ruled by a grand aristocracy. it consisted of the demon nobility, a league of high-level demons who paid their respects to me. and the demon army, whose various generals the nobility commanded for their frequent infighting.” her voice takes on a sharpness, with a tinge of bitterness, “of course, you should be aware that the breakdown of this aristocracy was the cause of my downfall. but I digress.”

Lu doesn’t look at him, as she replaces her empty cup and saucer onto the lace tablecloth. without prompt, he refills it with earl gray and replaces the Victorian pot onto his tray. the Noblesse leans her cheek against her knuckles daintily, contemplative.

” _Chiliarch_ \-- in the demonic tongue-- means ‘commander of a thousand.’ in the legends, this is the name for the one who united all the generals of the demon army under a single command.” she pauses to relish the knit in Ciel’s brow. she continues, smugly, “yes, the Chiliarch is merely a myth. and yet, this… Lu of another world has adopted this name for herself.”

“you believe she is interesting,” Ciel notes.

Lu laughs, a quiet, knowing chuckle. she folds her hands over her knees. “of course. a demon who looks and sounds like me falling into this world and claiming she’s a commander of a thousand demons. frightful, yet amusing.”

Ciel doesn’t miss the tightness in her smile. “and yet, you believe her.”

“of course I do, Ciel,” she answers without missing a beat. “while _Chialen_ ’s powers are nothing at all like mine, the evidence lies in the person she dragged along with her. him being _you_ , aside-- she calls him Dreadlord. do you know what _that_ name means, Ciel?”

again, he doesn’t. with his limited exposure to the demon power hierarchy, what he knows is what Lu decides to volunteer to him.

“allow me to enlighten you, Ciel-- what _Dreadlord_ means.” Lu pauses and takes a moment to drop a two sugar cubes into her tea. “you may be familiar with the power structures of the human world, so the best equivalent that I can give you for this name is the _Emperor_.”

Emperor, the absolute ruler of a large domain. he squares the idea with the image Dreadlord makes for himself. alternating furious whirlwinds of blades with sudden, careful strikes, juxtaposing grinning enthusiasm with sharp silence. it is like looking into a reflection that could never be him-- and yet, is _him--_ at the same time. he is merely a half-demon servant, while Dreadlord is a demon--

“ _King_.”

her voice snaps him from his reverie. Lu taps the silver spoon so it clinks against the porcelain. “but perhaps that word speaks too lowly of his role. _Dreadlord_ is the name reserved for the strongest warrior in the realm, and I have no reason to believe he is not. already he has shown us that his power is unmatched. he can single-handedly take down scores of demon generals, and he is only a human turned half-demon, like yourself. and yet, he’s only so strong because of _her_.”

Ciel understands what she’s implying. after all, he himself is the result of Lu’s restored demonic powers-- a Royal Guard serving a Noblesse. but he finds it hard to believe that Lu’s referring to the same Chiliarch who cheerfully complimented his blueberry scones only thirty minutes ago or the same Dreadlord who immediately demanded the recipe for it. there is no way they could be as immensely powerful, or as threatening to them, as Lu will have him believe.

but they just left to impose rule on their demon realm, so who is he to say that they aren’t?

“terror in absolute annihilation. that is their modus operandi,” Lu says sternly, bringing her cup to her lips. her eyes do not meet his. “let not their appearance fool you; our guests are ruthless, relentless demon lords at the very _least_. please conduct yourself accordingly, Ciel. we cannot afford to miscalculate.”

Ciel glances away uncomfortably. “but have you not already done so, Lu?” he points out gently. “you’ve become fond of her.”

Lu’s lips curve into an ironic grin. “yes.” then, more hesitatingly, “I have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chialen_  is Noblesse’s affectionate pet name for Chiliarch. both Lu’s have pet names for everyone, since they (mostly Chiliarch) just find it weird to call each other by their titles. Noblesse uses pet names because it gives her a sense of superiority, not because Chiliarch is adorable and her charm has rubbed off on her.
> 
> Ciel doesn’t use pet names.


	4. 4; ch, dl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4; Chiliarch, Dreadlord
> 
> Dreadlord dislikes the Underground and Chiliarch knows all too well why. still, to rule it, she goes back. and still, to protect her, he follows.

Ciel wonders absently, how much blood has to be spilled before they understand.

he stands, at ready, a few steps behind Lu, spinning a knife idly in his left hand. Lu stands, a hand on her hip, surveying the charred remains of the demon fortress at the cliffs below, her eyes solemn, severe. it’s rare to see her cheerful expression so serious, but after spending the last few years tearing the demon world apart with her, it no longer takes him by surprise.

“four left,” Lu says finally and turns around to look at him. she smiles, soft though strained, “and then, we can go back. Ciel, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” comes the automatic answer, but he glances away, sensing a presence passing along the treeline behind them. without hesitation, he launches a blade toward it and it lands squarely onto the demon’s throat, knocking it onto its back. Ciel sweeps toward it quickly, stamping his foot into the demon’s gut, and stabs one of his gunblades into the ground inches from its frightened eyes.

“Lu.”

and she steps up behind him, examining the demon grunt coldly. “one of the Archmage’s. I am surprised even she has decided to resort to this.” Lu crosses her arms under her thick coat, before turning to look at Ciel. “we will pay her house a visit next. Ciel?”

“hm?” he studies the demon dispassionately, before picking his gunblade from the ground and aiming it for the cluster of power in its chest. with a silent scream, the azure soul rips itself from its shell and its body slowly fades into trailing smoke. Ciel tucks his gunblade back into the hilt of his belt, its edge dripping indigo blood, and Lu reaches for his cold hand with her warm one.

“Ciel.” her deep blue eyes shine with concern as she tiptoes to pat his face gently with both hands. “snap out of it, Ciel. you’re kind of scary right now.”

and Ciel wraps his fingers around one of her hands, closing his eyes briefly. he exhales deeply, finally acknowledging the strange tiredness set onto his body. the demonic magic permeating the Underground weighs on him even more. “sorry, Lu.”

“it’s okay, Ciel. we’ll get through this together, okay?” Lu lowers her arms, taking a moment to consider his exhaustion. she decides, with a quiet look, then a tiny smile, “we should turn in for the evening. we can finish up tomorrow morning.”

Ciel looks up and considers the dreary light the demons call their sun, still high in the sky. if it’s evening, he can’t tell, as the starlight seems to disperse in faint wisps around them. the ominous aura surrounding the forest seems to be singing the song of death, and at any moment, one of the rebel demon lords could appear. he wasn’t about to risk an ambush to sleep. Lu taps his cheek to snap him out of it.

“you need some rest, Ciel. and no,” she says, placing her finger over his lips before he can protest. “no complaining. you’re tired, Ciel. listen to me.”

Ciel turns his head away from her finger, moving his gaze away from hers. “Lu, I can still--”

“I won’t let you,” she says plainly, curling her fingers around his, firm, insistent. eventually, Ciel relaxes just enough to allow her to pull him away from the cliff’s edge and toward the deepening forests behind them. “let’s go to sleep, Ciel. Ciel.”

Ciel follows, but doesn’t look at her, still hyper alert and anxious. Lu frowns, but leads him through and around winding roots, black with cold and dusted with leaves. as they walk, the world becomes colder, darker, the only light they see radiating from the unearthly glow of detached souls. finally, Lu pulls him into a small cavern in the roots of an aged tree, glancing behind them cautiously. she moves quickly to seal the entrance with a defensive barrier, and Ciel pulls his jacket off his shoulders, dropping it heavily to the cold ground.

“Ciel?”

he doesn’t realize he has already collapsed until he sees Lu’s worried eyes hovering over him in the dim darkness. shrugging off his exhaustion, Ciel pushes himself up to sit against the wall of roots. he gives her a weak, fading smile, then closes his eyes in a deep sigh.

after all, he chose to follow her here to the demon world-- even if it meant he would lose more and more of himself. because he will always choose to protect her.

Lu, still silent, pulls at his arm and tucks herself against his chest. Ciel brings his arms around her firmly, and she nudges her cheek against his affectionately, inquisitively.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles into her hair, not entirely honest, and closes his eyes tiredly. “just… need some sleep.” he feels Lu shift to cover the both of them with his jacket and again when she curls herself up so she’s fully covered by his jacket, resting snugly in his arms.

“rest well, Ciel,” Lu whispers gently. Ciel squeezes her lightly and allows himself to drift to sleep.  



	5. 5; db, dm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5; Diabla, Demonio
> 
> Diabla is out for blood. why, Demonio doesn’t know. and he doesn’t care.

the world is burning. Ciel sees nothing except the mist before him, the edge of his vision curling with thick smoke. indigo fire splashes as waves spike up from the ground, cresting then crashing harshly into the demon hoard. through the flecks of blue dust, he sees Lu raising a bloody claw against the endless demon swarm, before turning to look at the demon commander at its helm.

“have you run out of toys for me to play with yet?” Lu purrs, eyes shining darkly as she lets a sizzling corpse drop to the ground. “it won’t do to have you underestimate me, my dear Sentinel.”

the guardian demon hesitates, before shaking his head. “I do not understand, your Majesty. why?”

“what do you fail to understand, my old Sentinel?” Lu laughs, in an echo beyond emotion. “this world, the beings within it... I simply do not _care_ anymore. power, esteem-- it is worth nothing to me.”

“if this is your revenge, your Majesty...” the demon lowers his gaze, expression demure. he clenches his hand around his staff, raising demonic creatures from the soil anew, dripping dark with power. “then I cannot allow it.”

her lips widen into a devilish smile. “so you will take me seriously, then! this will make things _much_ more entertaining.”

the world is laughing, burning.

crying.

pain flashes hot in his eye but Ciel doesn’t blink.

“Ciel.”

at her call, Ciel shoulders his rifle and fires five rounds. the recoil pushes against him with every shot, each shot piercing entire ranks in front of him. in mere seconds, the frontline has been vaporized into temporal dust, but they continue to approach, in a steady ominous march. even as their souls are ripped from them, even as they fall with every step, even as their deathly screams drench the air.

“Ciel, dear, you’re too _kind_ to them.” Lu laughs again, a pitch so chilling the Sentinel recoils. she waves a claw delicately at the incoming demon regiment. “please, Ciel, show my former servants what you are truly capable of.”

Ciel lowers his rifle, pulls back with the targets in his sights. the flame in his eye trembles then spreads, and its power runs like hot ice in his veins. his fingers twitch when it flows into his hands, and then into his gunblades, honing the blades into lethal steel. Ciel raises his head to the demons lined in front of him, and they freeze in fear.

for a moment, Ciel remains still. the air is palpable, thick with magic and power, hollowed by eerie screams and crushing silence, and suspended in dust around him. the world starts to slip from his grasp, bit by bit, then all at once, and until Lu’s last command is the last thing he remembers.

and Ciel obeys.

he rushes into the demon army and their blood splatters into hovering droplets. it fades into blue dust, and he attacks so quickly he warps the wind with every slash. he targets their glowing cores, their source of power, and shatters them, slicing them into halves with a quick flick of his wrist. the blue blood on his blades evaporate into smoke, but the blood on his hands makes his grip slip. the souls cry, a dirge like an unearthly cacophony, but he doesn’t know why.

through his blade, he hears a scream. through his bones, he feels it reverberate. and in that instant, he feels power consume him.

then nothingness-- he feels, sees, hears nothingness.

“Ciel? …”

the voice that calls him echoes, muffled. it’s familiar, so he stops.

“Ciel?” his vision shifts and blurs like a haze, tinted in a blue fog. his blood runs cold, time slows, and he sees more than feels a hand touch his hand.

“Ciel?” and the hands move touch his face. “they’re all dead now. you’ve killed them all already.”

the touch is warm. he feels cold, suddenly very, very cold.

“Ciel, come back to me.” the hands grasp him firmly, the claws pressing painfully into his skin. the demonic energy start to spin, uncontrollably, gathering into an invisible vortex around them. the voice is shakier, breaking with each word. “Ciel, Ciel-- come back to me, Ciel.”

his heart beats erratically in his chest, struggles to accommodate the vast power overwhelming him. his vision fades into darkness. “you can’t stay like this, Ciel. you can’t do this to me again, Ciel. _Ciel_ \--”

it drowns him.

“ _Ciel_.”

when Ciel falls to his knees, so does Lu. he feels her choked sobs wrack her small body, as her arms wrap around him, cradling him against her. slowly, surely, eventually, he tries to open his eyes. his left eye pulsates in pain, but he sees now, past the strands of his white hair, the small body curled up against his chest. she’s muttering under her breath in demon tongue, quiet lilting syllables, and he realizes Lu is chanting reassurances, comfort, to herself, to him.

Ciel picks up a hand, still cold, still tingling, still inhuman and stained with blood, and places it onto her head. Lu starts with a hiccup, before moving her eyes, wide and afraid, to his.

“Ciel?” there’s a bit of reserved caution on her face, and something else he doesn’t recognize. he can’t recognize it anymore. “Ciel, are you here?”

Ciel closes his eyes and hears his heart pound and the world thrum with pure demonic energy. he places his hand against Lu’s hair, feels the softness even despite the sharp claws at the tips of his fingers. he remembers, as his thoughts fade, that it wasn’t always this way. it wasn’t supposed to be this way, and yet, here in this state, he doesn’t remember what it should’ve been.

“Ciel.” Lu nestles herself into the crook of his arm, mumbles, “Ciel,” and nuzzles her head against his chin. “Ciel…”

when Ciel closes his eyes, he feels the enchanted souls of the fallen rise up.

-

when Ciel wakes up, he realizes his eyes are already open. Lu’s resting against his chest, eyes closed, breaths soft and quiet. he places a hand gently on her hair and he notices her face is still moist with tears. when he looks to the cold sun in the dark sky, he can only feel its dying aura radiate through him.

why they are sleeping in a field of death? he doesn’t remember. he doesn’t remember anything that happens once Lu transforms or anything that happens when his consciousness fades. a sharpness pinches acutely at his vision, and he reaches to touch his left eye gingerly, his other arm instinctively hugging Lu closer to him.

“does it still hurt, Ciel?”

he blinks once slowly and then realizes Lu’s speaking to him. she’s turned her head toward him, her solemn eyes shining with worry. 

“Lu…”

she perks up visibly at the sound of his voice, and her lips soften into a smile. Ciel presses his hand against her back firmly and lowers his face into her hair, and Lu nuzzles him in return.

“you’re back, Ciel. you’re back.” then her smile fades, and she rests her forehead against his chest. “what can I do to help you? you know I will do anything for you, my dear Ciel. anything at all. tell me, Ciel, what must I do to ease your pain?”

but he doesn’t know. Ciel closes his eyes wearily, feels her soul rippling anxiously against his. her claws grasp at his shirt desperately.

“tell me, Ciel, please. _tell_ me.”  



	6. 6; ch, dl, nb, rg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6; Chiliarch, Dreadlord, Noblesse, Royal Guard
> 
> they have tea and sweets.

they sit around the tea table, the four of them. or rather, Noblesse and Chiliarch is sitting in their usual seats opposite of each other, Dreadlord slouches as far as back as he can in his chair, and Royal Guard stands beside Noblesse, tea tray in hand. Noblesse leans over to drop a sugar cube into Chiliarch’s cup and Chiliarch gives her an appreciative nod.

“it’s a new mix we’ve received from the herbalist,” Noblesse says, plucking the satchel from Royal Guard’s tray. Chiliarch leans over to examine the contents she spills into her hand. “black, earthly, with a touch of apple and orange. I thought this would be a taste you would enjoy, so I saved it for when you returned.”

“it smells amazing,” Chiliarch sighs in bliss. she brings the cup to her face, a content smile on her face, and then pulls at Dreadlord’s jacket sleeve. “Ciel, look, look. the deepness of the color-- it’s so exquisite.”

Dreadlord glances at the offered cup, then turns away with a noncommital, “yup.”

Chiliarch’s eye twitches slightly at his response, but she raises the cup to her lips instead. she makes a satisfied humming sound. “mm, it has an amazing taste, _Noblen_. thank you for sharing this with me.”

Noblesse’s smile is graceful, amused. “it’s my pleasure, _Chialen_.”

Royal Guard glances curiously at Dreadlord, who’s pointed his gaze steadily away from all of them. the teacup in front of him sits untouched as always, poured only for courtesy’s sake, slowly cooling in the chilly room. eventually, Chiliarch picks up that cup of tea as well, as Noblesse drops a sugar cube into that one too.

“absolute perfection,” Chiliarch says when she’s downed the second entire cup of tea. Royal Guard steps over to pour more tea into her cup, earning a happy smile from her. “thank you, _Raulen_. since you’ve been standing for awhile, you must be exhausted. do you want to sit down?” Chiliarch asks him and when he pauses, she looks curiously at at Noblesse.

there’s a brief silence before Noblesse picks up her cup and sips at her tea. taking that as a cue to respond, Royal Guard smiles kindly at her. “I will be fine, Chiliarch.”

Chiliarch pouts, fingering the handle of her cup. “if you say so, _Raulen_.”

Royal Guard inclines his head slightly, before returning to his position next to Noblesse. Noblesse touches her cheek daintily with a finger, before gesturing at Royal Guard wordlessly. she braces her hand under the tray he’s holding, and he allows her to take it and place it onto the table.

Dreadlord’s hanging his head over the back of his chair when Chiliarch pulls at his sleeve again. “Ciel, you know what would go well with this tea?”

Dreadlord returns his attention to the table again, quirking a brow at Chiliarch’s eager look. his gaze briefly flickers to Noblesse’s judging eye, before pointedly looking away from her and back to Chiliarch. at Chiliarch’s behest, he adjusts his posture, expression shaded a little less with boredom. “what would, Lu?”

“fudge!” she exclaims with a grin. “you made some last night, didn’t you?”

and Dreadlord smiles softly, finally. “maybe I did.”

“don’t give me that, Ciel. you did,” Chiliarch laughs, pulling at his sleeve insistently. “Ciel, let’s share it with _Noblen_ and _Raulen_! go, go get it!”

“yes, yes, one moment, Lu.”

Chiliarch smiles when he stands up. “thank you, Ciel~”

Dreadlord returns a few minutes later, a tray in his arms. as he places the forks onto the table, Chiliarch comments excitedly. “Ciel stayed up really late last night, even though I told him to rest instead. because he really wanted to make these!”

Noblesse takes her plate from Dreadlord, eying the cube of chocolate curiously. dried petals have been folded into the fudge, tinging the white with a soft pink glow. “are these rose petals?”

“yep,” Dreadlord says, handing a plate to Chiliarch. “it adds a unique fragrance that enhances the sweetness of white chocolate.”

Chiliarch takes it, immediately cutting out a piece with her fork, and bites into it happily. “mm, Ciel, you’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

“is it a keeper?” Dreadlord asks her with a smile.

and Chiliarch grins radiantly in return. “definitely!”

Noblesse replaces her fork onto her napkin after taking a single bite. “it definitely has a fascinating taste. thank you, _Drealen_.”

“I will take that as a compliment, Noblesse,” Dreadlord answers curtly, placing the tray onto the table and taking his seat again.

her lips curl into a mysterious smile. “please do.”

Dreadlord rolls his eyes, before shifting his attention at the last plate on the tray. and then he looks at Royal Guard silently, who has been watching Noblesse with a vaguely interested expression.

“ _Raulen_ , do you want to try?” Chiliarch pipes up suddenly, picking up Dreadlord’s intentions easily. she takes a piece out from her own fudge and gestures the fork at him. Royal Guard only smiles, raising a hand to rebuff her fork.

“thank you, Chiliarch, but I will be fine. unfortunately, I am not one for sweets.”

Chiliarch pouts but sits carefully back into her seat, fidgeting restlessly when she sees Dreadlord frown.

“ _Raulen_ , want to try this one?” Chiliarch tries again, pointing out the last plate of fudge. “it’s dark chocolate mm, with a bit of lavender! it won’t be as sweet as white chocolate fudge, right, Ciel?”

Dreadlord doesn’t reply, looking at neither of them. Royal Guard shifts his eyes hesitantly from him to Noblesse, who has picked up her cup of tea again. when she finally places the cup back onto its saucer, her expression is, as it has been for the entirety of the exchange, one of faint amusement.

“it would be a shame not to at least try it, Ciel,” she says, smiling wryly at Dreadlord, who is still actively avoiding her gaze. “after all, I believe _Drealen_ prepared it especially for you.”

“did he?” Royal Guard blinks blankly as he finally makes the connection. Chiliarch has to stifle a giggle as Dreadlord stubbornly looks away from all of them.

finally, Royal Guard asks, “Dreadlord, would you like me to try it?”

and Dreadlord lets out a long sigh. “yes.” then he stands, sweeping his coat off the back of the chair. “yes, I would. now sit down already before this gets any more awkward.”

Noblesse chuckles into her hand and Chiliarch radiates with delight. Royal Guard takes his seat carefully as Dreadlord moves the plate and a fork in front of him. Royal Guard regards him with a kind, grateful smile. “thank you, Dreadlord.”

Dreadlord shifts his gaze away from Chiliarch’s wink. “don’t mention it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chialen_ , _Drealen_ , _Noblen_ , and _Raulen_ are pet names Chiliarch and Noblesse use. their titles have significant connotations in the demon language and so diminutizing them makes them more personal and familiar. the Ciel’s aren’t as familiar with demon mythology, so neither see the need to use them. but Chiliarch tries to convince Dreadlord to anyway.


	7. 7; all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> four independent drabbles, corresponding to each of the duos. it is Lu’s birthday and she’s surprised Ciel wants to celebrate it. but of course he does.

“are you sewing something, Ciel?”

the white-haired demon lord is, sitting on the floor of their inn room, cuts of fabric on his lap. Chiliarch kneels down, before planting her face into the soft white fabric, and Dreadlord laughs, pulling it from her. she pouts, sitting upright and folding her legs under her, as her companion continues to stitch the pieces together.

“whatcha making?”

“something…” Dreadlord considers his words carefully. “something cute.”

she tilts her head doubtfully. “really.”

Dreadlord ruffles her hair affectionately. “really.”

a few hours later, Chiliarch’s resting her head against Dreadlord’s arm, eyes closed in a light sleep. she’s loosened her hair from her pigtails, hair ties thrown near the spools of pink thread and cut white fabric. when Dreadlord leans over to collect the jacket she’s flung onto the floor, she stirs sleepily.

“mm, finally finished, Ciel?” Chiliarch yawns, rubbing her eyes. the large white shirt hangs lopsidedly on her small shoulders.

“you didn’t have to stay up with me,” Dreadlord says with a chuckle, before holding up the cloak up in front of him to shake off any loose threads. “what do you think, Lu?”

Chiliarch blinks. she reaches out to the touch the soft white fabric with her fingers. it’s a cloak much like her commander’s jacket, but one made of soft white minky fabric with large pink buttons trailing down the front. her shining eyes linger on the two long rabbit ears attached onto the hood, and she caresses them in awe.

“since you mentioned it was your birthday today-- or whatever demons call their birthdays,” Dreadlord clears his throat. he lowers the cloak slightly to see her surprised, moist eyes. “I thought you'd like a present.”

“thank you.” Chiliarch smiles, wiping a tear from her eyes. she tackles him into a hug, burying her face into his shoulder, and Dreadlord returns it with a gentle smile. “thank you, Ciel.”

* * *

Royal Guard sets the table, placing trays of small cakes next to a pair of seafoam green teacups. Noblesse takes her seat, brushing her morning dress neatly over her lap. she picks up a cup, holding the glazed teaware in her hands inquisitively, and taps it with her index.

“what is this, Ciel?”

“I picked these up from the traveling merchant yesterday, as well as a new kind of tea,” Royal Guard says, when Noblesse places the cup back onto the embroidered table cloth. as he pours the tea into her cup, steam curls into the air, its scent light and aromatic. “this is _sencha_ , with an infusion of _sakura_ petals. it is a green tea that has a mellow taste I thought you would enjoy.”

Noblesse holds the hot cup in both hands and brings it to her lips for a careful sip, humming in approval. her eyes then drift curiously to the pastries laid on the table before her: small squares of strawberry shortcake, mont blancs topped with chestnut cream, vanilla roll cakes sprinkled with confectioner’s sugar. she puzzles over them for a moment, until Royal Guard slides a plate of light cheesecake in front of her.

“you might want to try this first, Lu. soufflé cheesecake, inspired by the cakes my mother used to make. it’s quite a bit lighter than my usual recipe, but I thought this style would go well with the tea.” Noblesse picks up a small fork, carving into the fluffy golden cheesecake. as she takes a bite, her expression shifts into pure delight.

“this is absolutely delicious, Ciel,” Noblesse says, patting her lips daintily with a cloth napkin. she replace the fork onto the plate delicately and leans her cheek against the back of her fingers, glancing at Royal Guard, mildly intrigued. “but this must have required so much of your time and effort to prepare. what is the occasion?”

Royal Guard blinks blankly at her question. “did you not mention it was your birthday today, Lu?”

Noblesse gives him a long contemplative look, before lowering her eyes, gaze solemn. “oh. yes. so it is.”

Royal Guard watches her with concern, before resting the teapot quietly onto the table. he inquires, a bit uncertainly, “is this sort of celebration not to your taste, Lu?”

“no, this is simply wonderful, Ciel. thank you.” a sad wisp of a smile drifts onto her lips, as Noblesse surveys the tabletop decorated with pastries. “but I will say, it is quite lonesome to enjoy all these sweets on my own. would you join me, Ciel?”

and Royal Guard smiles kindly in reply. “of course, Lu.”

* * *

the cross of her star rests high in the sky, shining brightly over the sparse branches. Diabla breathes deeply the scent of the dew, feeling her power rise through the glades, its immense light obscuring the night sky. tonight, the demon world welcomes her dominion, as it had on the night of her awakening centuries ago. tonight, she awakens again to restore her strength. suddenly, Diabla opens her eyes, her trance broken when she notices a familiar warmth drifting through the clearing.

“Ciel?”

Demonio glances up at her briefly from where he’s crouching in front of the portable oven, but he doesn’t answer her. Diabla tiptoes behind him to peer over his shoulder, watching as he pulls a tray out from the dying heat. a batch of small chocolate chip cookies lay neatly on the sheet, quickly cooling in the cold breeze. Diabla places her chin on his shoulder and she twitches her nose at the scent.

“mm, they smell delicious, Ciel.”

Demonio attempts to pry a cookie off the sheet with a finger, before retracting his hand from the heat. Diabla giggles in amusement, draping her arms around him, as Demonio struggles to scrape the cookies off the sheet with his baking spoon. when he finally picks one up, he nudges the cookie to her lips and Diabla leans over to take a bite out of it. the cookie melts heavenly in her mouth.

“perfect, as expected from my dear Ciel,” Diabla chirps, as Demonio offers her another one. she finishes that one too, and her dark eyes shifts to search his. Demonio’s gaze is impenetrable as always, though the lines under his eyes betray his usual exhaustion.

“you know, you haven’t made cookies in a while, Ciel.” Diabla curls her arms around his neck, leaning against him heavily. “why tonight?”

Demonio says nothing at first, occupied with tilting the tray so the rest of the cookies slide onto another plate. then he turns to her and rests his forehead against her shoulder.

“happy birthday, Lu.”

surprise flits across her face for a moment, before her eyes fill with tears. 

“Ciel. _Ciel_ ,” Diabla cries out, fingers grasping at his shirt desperately, and Demonio easily sweeps her trembling body into a comforting embrace. “Ciel, you _remembered_. _Ciel_.”

Demonio only hums softly, closing his eyes to her sobs, and cradles her gently in his arms.

* * *

_“happy birthday, Lu.”_

_Lu pauses in the middle of her cookie, her eyes sharpening into a hard gaze. “you mean to commemorate the day of my awakening? it’s not really something that should be celebrated, Ciel, let alone call happy.”_

_Ciel takes the seat across from her, brushing aside her concerns with a casual shrug. “it is still the day you were born though, Lu.”_

_“I’m not sure if you understand, Ciel. awakenings for high-level demons such as myself are bloodbaths. thousands of demons--” Lu stops suddenly and lowers her eyes to her hands, the cookie seeming too innocent in her grasp. she steels herself and continues, “Ciel, thousands perished at my hands so I could awaken into my existence. it is… not something to remember so blithely.”_

_Ciel is silent for a moment and rightly so. eventually, he says, in a quiet offering, “still, it is the beginning of your life, Lu. had you not been born, I wouldn’t have met you. to me, that is something worth celebrating.”_

_Lu looks away, dabbing at her eye with a sleeve. “... thank you, Ciel.” she looks up at him, matching his hesitant smile with her softer one. “then I am glad to have been born to meet you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, [that](http://i.imgur.com/I6EHdRo.jpg) bunny costume.
> 
> [sencha](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sencha) is great. [Japanese cheesecake](http://www.justonecookbook.com/japanese-cheesecake/) is also great. Lu typically drinks black teas, mostly earl gray and English breakfast, and her pastries tend to be of French origin, so Japanese-inspired goodies is probably a nice break for her. (from the backstory comics KOG has been putting out lately, it seems Ciel’s baking style is actually more in between. I actually headcanon that Royal Guard tends to make French pastries and Dreadlord American sweets. Demonio... doesn’t bake all that much. just cookies. which Diabla loves.)
> 
> (lore headcanon) _awakening_ is the name for a noble demon’s birth. most demons have a precarious existence as mindless souls, but high-level demons like Lu exist as conscious, self-aware entities, and their  _awakening_ is the exertion of their right to rule. securing that mandate usually entails bloodshed, intrigue, and mass destruction, all of which Lu is too familiar with in the underworld. so she has trouble reconciling this brutal ritual with Ciel's well-intentioned gestures and finds his attempts to please her strangely quaint and welcome.
> 
> but mostly Ciel just wants to see her happy. and I really just wanted to write something for her birthday.


	8. 8; ch, dl; nb, rg; lu, ciel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 8; Chiliarch, Dreadlord; Noblesse, Royal Guard; Lu, Ciel
> 
> and so he prays: should he be given the chance to meet her again in another life, he will give himself entirely to her.

“no! Ciel!”

it’s the last thing he hears when his heart stops, and yanks and tears at him, like death. the white-haired assassin pulls his gunblades back and turns toward her voice, just in time to see his life flash before him, his pulse slowing with time.

Ciel’s felt this sensation before-- when he first died. the heavy fog when he felt himself fading away, when Lu paused the time of the world. when he died to protect a girl he barely knew and she, in turn, saved his life.

this time, it is she who falls, her white wavy hair fluttering in the chilling breeze. instinctively, he reaches out to catch her prone form, but before he could touch her, her body disintegrates into dust.

he thinks, he wishes he could hear her voice as it was back then--

_“give me your hand and our souls will become one.”_

but there is nothing but darkness this time, as her dust fades into the abyss.

time shifts and returns him to the present and he stares with incredulity at his black gloves stained with blue blood. before him the massive demon god ambles, sniffing the air around them, before roaring in confusion-- in anguish. and he realizes with a slow, sinking numbness, its attack was meant for him. not her-- not its Chiliarch.

Ciel can only see his hands shake.

when he died, she gave her soul to save him. to give him the chance to live, even if it was as a shadow of his former self.

and when she died, it was to save him again.

-

_“Ciel, did you notice? your hair’s almost completely white now.”_

when he sees himself reflected in the passing waters, he startles himself. his hair’s white-- long, and no longer splashed with the unusual blue streak that Lu used to poke at teasingly. his eyes are sunken, weary, his skin nearly sheet white, and he almost disbelieves it until he takes a step back, and his reflection brandishes its blades at him.

he closes his eyes, breath shuddering.

_“Ciel, snap out of it. see, you’re fine, you’re okay. I’m here for you. you’re still Ciel to me, you’re still okay.”_

but his hands are cold, numb, even as her memory tries to warm them up.

it is the greatest irony he becomes the lord of demons, only after she is dead.

the demon blood that stains his gloves, and then stains his hands-- none of it is justified anymore. he’s lost track of the hoards of demons that pursued him-- that he’s killed. before, he killed only for her-- now, he kills to survive.

he still does not know why he was allowed to live.

he no longer feels the presence of her soul curled closely alongside his, comforting him when the days seem endless, and waking him when he no longer wants to wake. he no longer thinks of something and fail to remember her voice, the tiny brightness in what had been complete darkness. he no longer hears the tinkling of Lu’s child-like giggles or the ringing of her excited shouts-- only the empty ghosts they left behind.

_“see, I think you’re getting used to your demon blood. pretty soon, you’ll be able to command demon underlings as I do!”_

she gave him the promise of a life, however short, filled with laughter and hope. a promise of a life where he would no longer be alone.

and he had it, for the short, but happiest part of his life.

so when Ciel finds himself, collapsed against the stone, blue blood draining from the wound on his stomach, and his life bleeds out from him, he thinks, finally, it’s over.

_“you’re a little pale, Ciel. I hope I’m not pushing you too hard. are you sure you don’t need more rest before we go?”_

_“I’ll be fine, my little lady.”_ he remembers his own chuckle and then her worried pout. he remembers her hug tighten around him protectively, when he says, _“I just need more time to get used to this.”_

Ciel closes his eyes, as he feels his shadow fade into dust. he knows, with his final trailing thoughts, he has run out of time.

-

Ciel wakes, or has the sensation of waking, to the scent of baked cookies. in his hands is a tray of them, the soothing warmth wafting into his face.

when he passes beside a mirror, he notices his hair is blue again, and tamer. his complexion is a healthy tan, not the sallow pale he remembers in his nightmare, and when he brushes a strand gently to the side, he sees a thin blue cross on his forehead, the symbol of his contract.

so he has gone back to this time.

“Ciel~” Lu’s voice calls to him. he doesn’t start, as he’s become so used to hearing the phantom in his mind. “why are you taking so long with the cookies?”

but when he steps through the doorway, he sees an unsatisfied pout adorning her tiny lips.

he barely has time to smile before her head cocks to her side, those white strands framing her face. her eyes, startling, seems to see right through him, and he instinctively refrains from throwing a hug around her. of course, she’s here-- but she isn’t his Lu. not the one who clung to his back when she felt like commanding him into battle, not the one smiling happily as she wrought absolute destruction. this Lu is more fragile, like glass, and sharper, like its broken edges, but he feels strongly and familiarly the pull to protect her. he doesn’t ask questions; he doesn’t need or want to.

not if he gets the chance to be with her again.

“yes, yes, my lady, have some patience. I was waiting for them to cool.”

he notices her rolling her eyes as she usually does, puffs out her cheeks at being addressed so, and he doesn’t fake his smile. Lu merely crosses her arms, rests against the couch she has made her throne.

“really, Ciel, you were taking so long, they’re probably cold as ice by now.”

if he was given another chance, he’ll make the most of it.

-

this time, he’s resolved not to depend on her demonic power for his strength. instead, he hones his gunmanship to eliminate threats before they appear, to save Lu from lifting even a single finger. he fights with confidence in his step, so much more comfortable as agile marksman than demon lord.

Lu surveys his work with an amused gaze and calls him the proper servant.

“though, you really should save me some enemies too, Ciel,” she says, stepping so softly she floats over the smoking corpses. the blue souls that dance around her move to swirl around him, infusing him with warmth. he lowers his Marbas and glances out to the battlefield, strewn with death and destruction.

he can’t afford to rely on her anymore. he can’t allow Lu to sacrifice herself to save him again.

though now he’s beginning to forget why he’s so convinced of it.

“a lady doesn’t need to dirty her hands.” and briefly, his smile lapses. “I can handle it, Lu. I need to be able to protect you.”

and here, she looks at him, puzzled, “why? I’m a full-fledged demon in my own right, Ciel. I can fend for myself.”

Ciel doesn’t answer immediately. because Lu is right. she has recovered most of her power and stature since their contract was first established. still, he can’t shake the feeling that something is missing, even though he’s not sure anymore-- what is, or why. his past life only floats hazily in his memory. he only knows he can’t allow her to touch the taint of death, can’t allow her to reap the demons as she did before. he needs to become even stronger for her, but he can’t take the power she wants to give him.

he clenches his hand into a fist, but says nothing. Lu observes him quietly, before reaching a hand out to cup his face.

“Ciel, are you so afraid of becoming a demon yourself that you try to hold onto the remnants of your humanity?”

Lu holds his surprised look in her knowing one. she carefully brushes a strand of blue hair behind his pointed ear, her voice quiet, solemn, “what are you thinking that you are not telling me, my dear Ciel?”

“it’s...” but he can’t say it; her concern and her deep blue eyes ties his tongue.

“that’s alright, Ciel. I prefer you as yourself than at the mercy of the demon inside.” and she gives him a soft reflective smile, before turning from him with finality. “come now, Ciel, we need not mourn the fallen.”

and comfortably, easily, he falls back into step. “yes, my lady.”

-

he hears, again, like an old friend, his heart stop. a beat too loudly as the shock settles over him, and his hand weakens around the handle of his gun.

“no! Ciel!”

it’s muffled, but it gives him a sense of deja vu, as the air melts into heavy liquid around him.

he sees, rather than feels, the scrabbling of small hands on him, and hears the cries through thick water as warm fingers tries to pull at the cold spear through his chest.

he thinks, perhaps, because he’s still partly human, that he dies slower than a demon does. still, he’s given more time to ponder by virtue of not immediately turning into dust.

Lu is crying. that is his only regret. tears don’t suit a Noblesse as strong and elegant as she. he raises his hand to brush at her tears and, at her startled hiccup, places a kiss on her forehead. he doesn’t regret this path he’s chosen.

but as darkness clouds his vision and her voice drifts further and further away, he knows he’s failed her again.

-

she’s a wisp, long white hair pooling onto the bedsheets. frailty and a tight restraint of power effuses from her.

“have you remembered anything yet?” he asks, setting the bowl of water and towel at her bedside. she closes her eyes, sighing deeply. she’s like a fairy, tiny and fragile, and her eyelashes flutter. “do you know your name?”

her voice is sing-song-like, gentle and washing of nostalgia. “Luciela R. Sourcream.”

she takes a deep breath before looking at him with piercing sapphire eyes. her pupils, he notices, are imprinted with the same cross that light up the back of her hands. her gaze is soft, kind, and yet--

Luciela takes his outstretched hand, allows his fingers to curl around hers.

“Ciel, must we do this song and dance again?”

and he smiles gently in answer. “no, my lady.”


	9. 9; ch, dl; nb, rg; db, dm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9; Chiliarch, Dreadlord; Noblesse, Royal Guard; Diabla, Demonio
> 
> the intersection of three (or the aftermath of it). there is power in being kind.

“Ciel, you can let go of me, you know.”

Dreadlord doesn’t, only holds onto her tighter when Chiliarch finishes wrapping the bandages around his torso. she perches her chin against his shoulder, small fingers fumbling with his ragged coat, nearly torn to shreds after the fight, coaxes it as best she can off his shoulders. she rubs her head gently against his, but Dreadlord doesn’t return that either.

then finally, he asks, “why did you stop me?”

Chiliarch puffs out her cheeks, but casts her eyes to the ground. Dreadlord buries his head into her shoulder, breaths shaking as he wraps himself around her small body.

“hey, Ciel, what’s wrong with you?” Chiliarch tries to push herself away but stops when she feels a dampness against her shoulder. she folds, relaxing into his embrace. “hey, Ciel,” she mumbles quietly, “Ciel.”

“he could have killed you,” he says, his voice breaking. “he nearly killed Royal Guard.”

Chiliarch lowers her eyes, her fingers curling loosely in thought.

“I know,” and she can feel his grasp on her tighten again. “but he didn’t.”

“then why did you do it?”

“Ciel.” Chiliarch moves her hand to the back of his head, carding her fingers through his soft white hair, her eyes softening. “because he reminded me of you. -- Ciel,” she nudges him gently to face her, her serene eyes meeting his moist, frightened ones. “one day, you might end up like him too. no-- _will_.”

Dreadlord looks away, but his fingers clenches into her jacket. “Lu, I swear I won’t.”

“Ciel,” Chiliarch says, places her fingers tenderly against his scarred cheek. “it’s not a matter of how or why-- but when. and when that day comes, I don’t want you to forget your kindness. the day you selflessly took in a weak demon girl and nursed her back to health… I don’t want you to forget that.”

Dreadlord shakes his head, still avoiding her eyes. “Lu, I won’t… I _won’t_.”

“Ciel, I…” she presses her face into his shoulder, curling up in his embrace. “please understand, Ciel. no matter what happens to me, to you, to _us_ , I can’t-- I _won’t_ \-- let you turn into a monster, Ciel. I won’t.”

-

Noblesse draws the heavy blinds over the double-paned windows, her fingers sealing the protective barrier surrounding the room. she lowers her hand, but her melodic murmurs continue to infuse the room with warm healing magic. when she’s done, she takes a step back and returns to sit Royal Guard’s side. when she searches for his hand amidst the bedsheets, he offers it willingly.

“rest, Ciel,” Noblesse insists quietly. she gathers his hand into hers, careful to avoid the bandage on his bleeding palm. “leave everything to me. all you need to do is rest, Ciel.”

his eyes struggle to remain open. “Lu…”

Noblesse rubs soothing circles around his wound, her voice a kind hum. “Ciel, save your energy and rest.”

but Royal Guard doesn’t. instead, he asks, “why… did you let them stay?”

she blinks, momentarily taken aback. his fingers curl loosely in her paused hand, in askance.

and she has no words, no answer. for Chiliarch, for Dreadlord, for anyone else, she does, but for him, for the one who would sacrifice his life and his soul to protect her, there is none. Noblesse glances down to their clasped hands, then back up to his face, but his usually bright eyes are fogged, feverish. she reaches out to brush a strand of hair from his face, tucks it behind his ear.

“Ciel,” Noblesse says, her gaze delicate, subdued. “I treasure you more than anything else in this world. time and time again, you prove that you are far more than I deserve. and I… I…”

Noblesse lowers her head and gathers him in her arms. when she places her forehead gently against his head, Royal Guard reaches up slowly to press his hand against her hair, as her shoulder shakes with soundless sobs.

“Lu?”

“please trust me, Ciel,” she says finally, and she pulls away with a tired smile. “there is power in being kind.”

-

“it’s been a long time since we’ve seen a real bed, haven’t we? Ciel.”

Diabla giggles, as always, to herself, as she smoothes out the sheets for what must be the millionth time. Demonio has closed his eyes now, but his breathing is stilted, troubled. she crawls over Demonio to the other side of the bed, pulls at a pillow, and fluffs it up, before tucking it behind his back, careful not to disturb him.

“clean, dust free, and most importantly, devoid of demonic particulate. the Lu of this world definitely knows how to keep her mansion tidy,” she chirps conversationally. her fingers flutter over his blanket, probing his bandaged limbs methodically. “see, I can tell your wounds have already started to heal. the warm aura in the air is very good for recovery, Ciel.”

when there’s no response from Demonio, Diabla tilts her head and moves to kneel beside him. she touches his cheek with her hand curiously; his skin, as always, is cold to the touch. “are you asleep, Ciel?”

Demonio doesn’t answer again, but his eyes open, a dull indigo. they’re pained. Diabla smiles, a little to herself, and a little forlornly, brushing at his hair with a finger.

“Ciel, it’s fine if you need to sleep.”

but he shakes his head slowly. “Lu…” and his voice is a quiet, strained rasp. “what… what did I do?”

Diabla starts imperceptibly, before she collects herself, her smile widening into a knowing one. “you did as you’ve always done, Ciel. you were my sword and my shield. my only ally, my best protector.”

but Demonio only stares blankly at his bruised hands, scarred, blood-stained fingers. Diabla hovers by his side, reaching down to clasp her hand over his.

“Ciel,” she says, and she’s softer, more gentle. “none of it is your fault.” and her smile fades from her lips. “none of it.”

“Lu, what did I _do_?”

“Ciel… one of them, you weakened-- and the other, you nearly killed-- Ciel,” she says, and her fingers presses into his palm, begging for him to understand. “Ciel, this wasn’t your fault. Ciel, _look at me_.”

but he doesn’t.

“I-- I should have stopped you,” she rambles on. “but I didn’t-- _couldn’t_. because I-- _couldn’t know_ how much pain you were in, Ciel. but you-- _you_ stopped yourself.. ... Ciel,” she lowers her eyes, holding his hand tightly in hers. her voice is a small whisper. “there’s still a part of you that knows how to be _human_. even like _that_ , you can still be kind.”

her voice continues, a tearful strain in her words. “don’t… don’t blame yourself for something I did to you, Ciel. you… didn’t ask for this. you didn’t ask for _anything_ like this.”

Demonio doesn’t answer, but there’s something in his tired eyes that softens when she cries. finally, he closes his eyes, letting out a stuttering sigh.

“she looked like you, Lu.” he murmurs. “… she sounded like you, too.”

and Diabla blinks through her tears, perking up at the sound of his voice. she smiles, in relief, gladness. “she did, didn’t she?”

Demonio brings a hand to her face, his cold fingertips tracing her skin. Diabla grasps his hand in hers, nudging her cheek against his touch happily.

“she did,” Demonio says, brushing at a tear at the corner of her eye. “she... wanted me to stop. all I did was listen to her.”  



	10. 10; nb, rg; lu, rg; nb, dm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10; Noblesse, Royal Guard; Lu, Royal Guard; Noblesse, Demonio
> 
> she will always protect him.

the moon waxes, nestled amidst its blanket of clouds. as its sparse light touches the earth, scattering against the foggy glass, Noblesse runs her fingers gently through his radiant blue hair.

“ _why_ ,” and those midnight black pupils pierced her with haughty judgment, “ _\--is he still human?_ ”

Noblesse touches her finger gently against his cheek, but her hand curls with latent power, restrained anger.

but Royal Guard is breathing, still stuttered, pained breaths. his hand that grasps loosely at hers in sleep refuses to let her go. 

“ _why_ ,” and those curious bright eyes sparkled in worry. “ _\--is he not demon yet?_ ”

she clasps both hands around his, lowers her head, and remembers how he fought, how he bled.

-

_“Ciel, you are hurt, aren’t you?”_

_Ciel does not answer her, but Lu does not need him to. the stench of blood is human, not demon. when he finally lets her down a safe distance from their pursuers, he remains crouched over himself, hand pressed over his torso, his breathing sharp rattles in the thick silence. Lu places a hand over his, tries to push his hand away from the blossoming red._

_“I’ll be fine, Lu.” but his breath hitches when she grasps his hand more insistently. “it’s…” he smiles, a strained little offering. “it’s nothing, Lu.”_

_and she frowns. Lu lowers her eyes to his wound-- two giant claw marks cleaved into his raw flesh, his dark blood staining his blue waistcoat. she traces futile circles in the air above the gash, but her power refuses to spark._

_“Lu-- it’s fine.”_

_Lu blinks away the tears that she finds in her eyes._

_because even as Ciel has become more than just her servant, more than her protector, more than she had ever expected, she--_

_she cannot help him. she cannot heal him. if she still had her powers, this would be only a scar. bit by bit, her power returns, but even with Ciel’s help, even with his unwavering dedication and unflagging loyalty, she is nothing without him._

_Lu balls her hands into fists, her eyes steeled in cold fire. “I will not stand for this, Ciel.”_

_Ciel blinks slowly. “Lu?”_

_Lu pushes at his shoulder and Ciel lets her. she lowers him wordlessly to the ground and tugs the backpack from his shoulder. with a sharpened claw, Lu cuts away the bloodied fabric stuck to his flesh, ignoring Ciel’s subtle flinch. when she flushes the wound with water, his blood blossoms into the white cloth, stains her pale hands._

_“Lu…” Ciel ventures hesitantly. “bandages will stop the bleeding… if you want, I can show you.” she flusters, but searches through his belongings for a roll of cloth. she holds it as he dresses the wound, reaching out to guide his hands when he falters._

_the dusk becomes more cool, silent. Lu kindles a tiny flame and watches in the light of the dawning moon as it shivers frailly in the cold. Lu pulls a blanket over Ciel’s shaking shoulders and settles next to him, curling up against him protectively. Ciel does not bring his arm around her, even though his eyes hold nothing but quiet longing, but instead brushes his hand against hers, searching for permission._

_Lu fixes her gaze to the ground, but does not deny him. when she closes her eyes and leans closer to him, his cold fingers curl gently around hers._

-

the worst has passed. Noblesse stands from her chair at the side of his bed, pulling the covers gently up to his chin. Royal Guard’s breathes are light and even, and his face is flushed less, relaxed in the ease of rest. Noblesse turns off the lamp to the pitch of dawn.

the mansion is quiet and comfortingly warm in its emptiness, the silence broken only by the click of the closing door. she takes her few silent steps down the hall, heels cushioned by the thick carpet, and finds herself standing before the door of one of the guest rooms.

when she pushes the door open, Demonio is sitting upright in his bed, his gaze fixed steadily into space. Diabla, her small body twined around Demonio, snores lightly, soundly, blithely. Noblesse’s lips twist into a frown.

Demonio wakes when she takes another step, his body tensing instinctively in her presence. she smiles, easy, gentle, coaxing, her eyes softening in kind.

“relax, my dear. no harm will come to you,” Noblesse says, folding her hands in front of her. Demonio has turned to look at her, an unfamiliar anxiety roiling beneath his empty expression.

“and neither will I allow harm to come to her,” Noblesse continues, nodding toward Diabla. “you two are our guests and so as long as you are under our roof, you will be treated as such.”

Demonio says nothing still, but his shoulders wilt. when Noblesse approaches him, she sees the stiffness in his shadow and barely stops herself from frowning. “have you not slept?”

his lips part, but he makes no sound. Noblesse’s gaze skates over to Diabla and something in her stirs again. when she reaches out toward him, he recoils.

Noblesse merely lowers her hand, a sad fragility in her eyes. “Ciel.”

Demonio trembles, but still, he does not move.

“you may speak to me, Ciel.”

his voice is a tiny, breathless whisper. “Lu...”

Noblesse attempts again, extending her hand like a offering. Demonio accepts it, leaning into her touch. she strokes his cheek, gently cupping his face, and he lowers his head obediently, wordlessly. her fingers curl against his pale skin.

“I am not the Lu you know,” Noblesse says, tucking a strand of his long white hair behind his ear. “I can never be. but even if you are not the Ciel who stands at my side, know that I will always care for you. in this world and in every other.”

his eye, gleaming black in the dim light, flutters close.

“sleep, my dear,” Noblesse commands gently. she presses a hand against his shoulder and he yields to her guiding pressure.

“sleep,” Noblesse insists, and Demonio exhales, his breath hitching. “allow me to protect you.”

-

_she watches him through the night, a sleepless, restless vigil. when his fever rises like flashfire, she wipes his forehead with a damp cloth. when his breathing breaks into pained groans, she embraces him with her tiny body. when he finally succumbs to a fitful sleep, she cries only into the silence._

_her eyes are bleary when the faded sun breaks over the canopy of leaves. her tears have dried, but her hands are still clammy with cold sweat._

_Ciel sleeps, peacefully, finally. Lu glances to the sky, at the morning breaking beyond the forest horizon, and she stands._

_Ciel wakes up to the sound of bubbling water, blinking his eyes groggily. his hands grasp at the air, shifting the blanket slightly in confusion. “Lu?”_

_Lu turns to him from her place beside the boiling pot. “Ciel?”_

_Ciel attempts to sit up, only to clutch his stomach as his wound bleeds anew. Lu rushes to his side, supporting him to prop him upright. Ciel offers her a tiny smile. “thank you, Lu.”_

_Lu shakes her head, tucking her hands into the fold of her skirt, her eyes still glistening with worry. Ciel glances at her silent reticence with hesitation. he lifts his hand, but she returns her gaze to the pot._

_“tell me, Ciel,” Lu says, her tone worn and distant. Ciel continues to watch her with concern. “tell me how you heal.”_

_“Lu?”_

_“is it so difficult to understand, Ciel?” Lu snaps suddenly. “I cannot be unable to care for my servant when he is injured. my demonic powers have not recovered enough to be able to heal you. so how can I--”_

_Ciel doesn’t hesitate this time. he brings her into an embrace, curling an arm around her, inhaling sharply when the movement pulls at his bandages. but he offers her no words and she does not ask for them. he only presses his forehead into her shoulder and she only grips his arm tightly._

_“there… are herbs in my bag,” Ciel says. “soak them in water, then grind into paste. helps to relieve the pain.”_

_Lu nods, but doesn’t remove herself from his comforting hold. “should I also make some porridge?” she mumbles into his sleeve. “would that help you heal too?”_

_and Ciel smiles. “that… would also help, yes.”_

-

when Noblesse returns to his room, she finds Royal Guard standing by the window, attempting to adjust his tie with his good hand. she places the tray and the bowl of porridge on the bedside table with a clack, curling her lips wryly when he doesn’t respond to the sound. when he finally drops his hand to his side, he sighs, replacing the thick silk tie onto the drawer.

“good morning, Ciel,” Noblesse says, when he finally turns toward her.

it takes him a moment to register her voice. Royal Guard blinks slowly, still half-asleep at the break of dawn. “ah, good morning, Lu.”

Noblesse chuckles, gently amused. “how are your wounds?”

Royal Guard doesn’t answer her, shifting his good hand over his loosely bandaged hand gingerly. her gaze lowers to his stomach, where the bandage is bleeding through, staining red spots against his white shirt. Noblesse frowns.

“come here, Ciel,” she says.

“Lu.” he hesitates, self-conscious in her presence. “I haven’t...”

Noblesse shakes her head. “Ciel, it’s fine. come.”

Royal Guard bows his head, takes a few stumbling steps to stand before her. Noblesse reaches up to brush his hair back from his forehead, presses the back of her hand against his skin, and her eyes soften in concern.

“Ciel, you needn’t have gotten up,” Noblesse wraps her hand gently around his wrist, avoiding the loose bandage around his hand. “I will take care of today. you need to concern yourself only with rest.”

he releases a long sigh. his gaze is uncertain, but she smiles and holds out her hand.

Royal Guard allows her to take his hand and pull him gently back onto the bed. Noblesse unwraps his bandaged hand carefully, pressing a cotton gauze against the puncture wound, before dressing it again. when she’s done, she holds his hand in hers, her fingertips ghosting over the clean bandage. her expression grows solemn.

“it’s fine, Lu,” he says absently, easily.

“Ciel,” Noblesse folds her hand over his reverently. “is there anything else I can do for you?”

Royal Guard shakes his head. his fingers curl weakly around hers, and her eyes soften in understanding. Noblesse places her other hand over his.

“whatever you need, Ciel, I will give. you only need to ask.” 

he hums in sleepy acknowledgement and closes his eyes. Noblesse raises their clasped hands to her cheek.

“for you, Ciel,” she says, her voice quiet, trembling. “I will do anything.”  



	11. 11; (flowershop!au) dl / dm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11; Demonio (Lucile), Dreadlord (Misha), Chiliarch (Lili); mentions of Diabla (Anne)  
> pairing: Dreadlord / Demonio
> 
> (flower shop au, because I am tired of writing in-universe headcanon and wanted to write dorks being dorks) Misha is obviously smitten with the new flower shop keeper. Lili decides she’s sick of it.

his name is Lucile.

it says it on the cheap plastic name tag affixed to the lapel of his blue apron, parenthesized by pink sharpie flowers. he is ringing up a young lady’s order, a delicately wrapped bouquet of white lilies on his hand, his lips softened into reserved acknowledgement. he isn’t much for talking, that’s for sure, and he turns the register display toward her to snap her out of her daze rather than calling for her attention. the girl blushes pink in embarrassment and offers him a crisp twenty and he takes it with a small, comforting smile.

 _that_ smile.

the brunette has buried her face in the lilies as she leaves the flower shop, the tiny bell ringing as the door swings close. her expression has loosened, all subdued and cathartic, and she trudges through the white afternoon sprinkle dusting the path. her fingers are wrapped tight around the stem of the bouquet, almost tearing the white tissue paper folded neatly over it.

Lucile is wiping his hands on a plain white handkerchief, glancing silently out the glass door. eventually, he takes the wooden broom at his side and resumes sweeping the flower clippings scattered across the tiled floor. as usual, his long white hair, tied in a single ponytail draped over his shoulder, is hiding his left eye. his visible eye though is a radiant blue and it pierces as much as it pulls.

“Misha, don’t you think this is cute?”

Misha looks down at his charge to see Lili hold up her flat clay rendition of an phoru’s face. the ears are flat against its head and a small indent serves as its pursed mouth. it looks exactly like the cookies Misha makes, only more sodden and pathetic looking. Misha raises a brow when she offers it to him, placing the still wet clay face thing proudly into his gloved hand.

“what do you think, Misha?” she asks, her eyes glittering in suspect. before he can reply to say that it’s cute, Lili smiles, “do you want to know what I think, Misha? I think it’d be a good present.”

Misha snorts, his lips crooked in a smile. he examines it, trying not to let the clay slip from his leather grip. “what are you talking about, Lili?”

Lili makes a not so subtle jerk toward the flower shop across the stone, snow-covered walkway. her smile is devilish. “for him, Misha.”

Lucile is thankfully sweeping around the poinsettia display at the back of the shop, so he doesn’t see Misha grab Lili’s head and turns it back away from the window. Lili only giggles when the cold wet clay presses against her white hair, because the fluster on Misha’s face makes it worth the trouble.

“please don’t play with wet clay, you two,” the shopkeeper reminds them for the umpteenth time, and Misha gives her a hasty apology as Lili snickers to herself. the mothers and daughters sitting at the other activity benches only give the odd pair suspicious and curious looks respectively.

“please don’t play with the wet clay, Misha,” Lili parrots back with a smirk, after Misha returns from the sink. the small ornament has now been crushed, thin hair patterns pressed into its face, and Misha frowns a little. Lili doesn’t seem too torn up about it though and starts wiping the side of her head with the wet paper towel Misha offers her.

“Lili.” Misha sits back onto the too small bench, sprawling his legs awkwardly to avoid kneeing the low wooden table. his voice is lower and he pointedly avoids looking out the window behind Lili. “do you really think he’d like something like this?”

Lili gives him a shark-like grin. “have you even talked to him, Misha?” the frown on his face only makes her grin wider.

“I have,” Misha answers defensively, more quickly than he wanted to. then he amends, “a little.”

“so you’ve only talked to him for work,” she laughs. “please, Misha, you can’t fool me.” Lili tosses the paper towel into a trashcan and perches her chin onto her hand coyly. “tell me, Misha. are you completely serious about him?”

Misha’s frown only deepens. “Lili, I’m not allowed to even consider--”

Lili only waves her hand absently and Misha stops, surrendering to her mysterious smile. Lili reaches over to his silk tie and pulls it firmly for his attention.

“you never know until you try, Misha,” she murmurs. Lili lets go and gives Misha a smile of hope. “maybe he likes cute things too.”

-

his name is Misha.

that’s the name the girl calls, usually in a barrage for his attention. Lili is the name he calls her-- she’s just shy of seventeen and a half and attends the clay workshop that the pottery shop across the street holds every Saturday morning. Misha, her constant companion, accompanies her in presence only, opting to stare across the way in disinterest, gaze fixed on the small evergreen at the door of the flower shop.

Misha bought flowers at the shop before. alone. white lilies, dressed up in white paper. in a pressed white shirt, pitch black vest, and navy silk tie. he cut an imposing figure and his light blue eyes scorched earth, but his smile betrayed a small soft kindness his sharp edges hid.

Lucile tries not to think about it. Anne told him that Misha is a regular, even before Lucile started working here. he always dressed up. always alone. always white lilies. Anne doesn’t understand it. Lucile does.

in the pottery shop, Misha has stood up to make his way to the sink, bumbling like an awkward giant amid the tiny wooden chairs and tables. Lili’s ponytails are slightly askew, and there’s a bit of clay matted on her platinum blond hair, but she is shaking with mirth. Lili’s holding a strange blob in her hand, but from this distance, he can’t make out what it is.

the rest of the Saturday passes quietly in short order. Lucile notes down a few special orders for tomorrow and handles last minute anniversary bouquets, wrapping each carefully with paper patterned with white gold flowers. when he closes down for the day, the air outside is coolly chill and the cobblestone path is frozen wet. the shop across the pathway has already closed, its finished glazed pots glistening from behind the glass storefront in the dim streetlight. the light from within the flower shop comes only from the subdued light of the glass refrigerators. Lucile wraps his scarf tighter around his nose and neck, before tucking his keys into his coat pocket.

“closing already? but I guess no one usually buys flowers this late on Christmas Eve.”

Lucile looks up, but he’d recognize the voice from anywhere. Misha’s smiling, of course, his hands tucked into his thick leather coat. he’s in his silk tie and black vest and Lucile makes to open the door again.

“oh, no, that’s not why I’m here this time,” Misha says quickly and Lucile’s hand pauses on the door handle. Misha shuffles, glancing absently at the potted evergreen hidden just past the door. his smile has dropped and Misha loosens his tie. he seems a little flustered, but he holds out a small craft paper bag. “I just… wanted to give you something. it’s a bit too late to decorate the tree for Christmas though.”

“oh,” Lucile says, and he lets the bag rest heavily on his palm. when he opens it, he finds a small clay ornament nestled amid a flower of white tissue paper. it’s an an animal’s face glazed in warm beige and brown. “... it’s cute.”

Misha blinks, seemingly taken aback back his bluntness, and Lucile feels the tips of his ears heat up. “you really think so?” 

“yes,” Lucile answers and rubs his nose with his scarf self-consciously. Misha’s crystal blue eyes are shining hopefully and it makes him melt in his boots. “I… I just didn’t think you were the type to make things like this.”

“I don’t-- I guess, I don’t seem like the type,” Misha laughs, and Lucile has to agree. “I usually make cookies that look like this. but this shape works surprisingly well as an ornament.”

“it does,” Lucile says, and he shifts the ornament in its paper packaging. he glances at the tiny painted smile on the animal’s lips and his lips curve into a small smile as well. “thank you. I don’t usually receive gifts.”

Misha’s smile softens in kind and Lucile feels his heart flutter. “I’m just glad you like it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the setting is some European-styled town. don’t sweat the details because I didn’t. Chiliarch is the teenage daughter of a very important political figure, and Dreadlord, a trained hitman, is her bodyguard, servant, and companion. after Demonio is blinded in his left eye on his last job, he’s hired by Diabla to run the flower shop after her aunt retired to the countryside.
> 
>  **Misha** is the name given to Dreadlord by Chiliarch. it’s short for **Mikhail** , which is what his superiors actually call him. Dreadlord doesn’t mind the nickname, because it’s cute.
> 
>  **Lucile** is the name given to Demonio by Diabla. it’s derived from _lux_ , light. that’s not his real name though. Demonio doesn’t remember what it used to be.
> 
>  **Lili** , full name **Lilya** , a Russian variant of Lily. from Chi **li** arch.
> 
>  **Anne** , pronounced ‘ahn’. from Di **a** bla. it’s French to match Lucile. yea, I didn’t think too hard about her name.  
> will probably be using these names for future AU’s.


	12. 12; (cafe!au) rg / dm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12; Demonio (Lucile), Royal Guard (Raphael), Diabla (Anne); mentions of Noblesse (Blanche)  
> pairing: Royal Guard / Demonio
> 
> (cafe au, because Demonio is a shy smol that needs love) Lucile finds the latte art Raphael makes cute. Raphael finds the fact that Lucile thinks it’s cute, cute.

the cafe is small. Lucile isn’t comfortable in places like these: the lighting is too dim, the furniture is too close together, and classical music is filtering in through the tiny speakers. but Anne told him to stay here for awhile, and so he scans the room for a place to sit. Lucile decides to settle at one of the chairs near the exterior glass wall, placing his sketchbook and pencil carefully onto the table.

“is there anything I can get for you, sir?”

Lucile nearly jolts up from his seat, but looks up to see a man standing next to him, his smile kind and patient. oh. he needs to order something to eat. or drink. Lucile looks around the rest of the cafe searchingly, before noticing a list of items written on the blackboard behind the counter. Lucile squints his working eye, trying to decipher their meanings.

“ah, here’s the menu.” with a crisp twirl, the man takes out a small menu from a pocket from his apron and offers it to him. Lucile takes it with a stiff nod and his smile crinkles warmly. “I’ll give you some time to look it over.”

Lucile looks down at the menu, but the paper menu makes just as much sense to him as the menu on the blackboard. he’s started to panic internally when the door swings opens in his peripheral vision and a young woman, probably a junior office worker on her break, steps in and takes the seat at the table next to his. the man shifts his attention to her and she relays her order to him with far more confidence than he can muster right now. Lucile looks up shyly to watch him walk behind the counter.

he’s tall, but unimposing, welcoming even, and his blue eyes reflect a perpetual calm. his long-sleeved shirt is rolled up to his elbows and the apron matches the color of his hair, long dark blue tied back with a red ribbon. he seems perfectly at ease with the machines, effortlessly pouring and stirring things together.

it takes less than a minute for him to return to the woman, a ceramic mug and spoon on the tray in his hand. he places a cloth napkin onto the table and then rests the piping hot mug carefully upon it. “here we are,” he says with a delicate smile, “a cafe latte.”

then he sees it. it’s a cat. it’s a smiling cat. the woman takes out her phone and snaps a picture of the cream design in her cup before wrapping her hands around the mug with a relaxed sigh. Lucile continues staring, only for the woman to obscure the cat when she takes a small sip.

“have you decided what you want yet, sir?”

Lucile jumps when the man speaks to him again. he glances quickly down to the menu, but the words are blurry to him. he thinks he mumbles something along the lines of “the same thing,” but he isn’t sure. the man chuckles softly and leaves him to stew in his embarrassment alone.

a few moments later, a steaming mug of coffee is placed onto his table. Lucile stares at it in awe and pulls the mug closer to him. it’s a puppy, with ears of foam and a smile in darker cream. he can’t bring himself to drink it.

when Anne meets him there in the late afternoon, the coffee has gone freezing cold, the froth all but gone. Lucile doesn’t want to waste it, so he pushes the mug toward her. in between her complaints about her subordinates and their insufficient training, Anne tosses in a few lumps of sugar from the tiny pot on the table and finishes the cold coffee in a few long sips.

when they leave, Lucile realizes that he didn’t drink anything all day. he thinks, perhaps, he should order something else next time.

-

he doesn’t. because it’s a turtle this time, stenciled in powdered chocolate over the froth. the old woman tells him, the lattes are this cafe’s specialty. the shortbread cookies and scones are heavenly, but the latte art is extra special, crafted by the owner himself and unique to each order. before he can stop himself, Lucile has ordered another.

the man only smiles. moments later, he presents him a latte as well, a happy chocolate rabbit smiling up from the caramel latte, and Lucile spends even more time staring at this one. a pat on his shoulder startles him out of his daze.

“Raphael was asking you a question, dear.” the woman gestures to the waiter with a kind smile. Lucile turns toward him, and the man is smiling too. Raphael. so that’s his name.

“did you want anything else?” Raphael asks, crossing his arms over his tray casually. “scones or cookies perhaps? or a different drink?”

“oh.” oh. so he noticed. he noticed Lucile didn’t touch his coffee yesterday. Lucile looks away into the rabbit’s smiling face and blanks out on the question completely. “oh. I’m sorry, I… I don’t drink coffee. I drink tea.”

Raphael only quirks a brow. “I see.” and Lucile realizes he just admitted that he ordered something he will never actually drink. Raphael smiles though, as if it isn’t a problem. “would you like a cup of tea instead? I’ll put it on the house.”

“um, I guess…” Lucile’s head spins. the kindness confuses him and the idea that he has an actual choice is frightening. “I-- I guess so.”

for the rest of the day, Lucile tries to pretend he’s drawing in his sketchbook. he starts outlining the flowers in the pots placed against the glass exterior of the cafe, but eventually his sketches become shapeless blobs surrounding his copy of the rabbit.

Anne only laughs when she drops by to pick him up, downing his cold coffee with a massive helping of sugar. Lucile just hides his warm face behind his sketchbook and wishes he has the power to melt into his chair.

-

the next day, Lucile’s nervous. Anne drops him off at the cafe again, but before she leaves for work, she casually strolls up to Raphael and smiles at him in her habitually menacing way. Lucile finds his usual spot at the corner of the cafe and stares blankly at the menu he picked up from the counter by the door. he’s torn between ordering yet another latte or saving Raphael’s the effort and just ordering hot tea.

but instead, Raphael slides a mug onto his table, placing a square piece of napkin next to it. onto the napkin, he places a cat-shaped cookie. Lucile peeks into the mug with apprehension and a cat’s smiling face stares up at him from the chocolate. Lucile is distraught.

“I’m-- I’m sorry, you don’t have to do this--” but Raphael shakes his head with a smile.

“your sister mentioned that you can’t drink any caffeine, so I made it with hot chocolate today,” Raphael says. he’s holding the tray against his apron and he’s tapping his fingers restlessly against it. “I’m not sure if you are fond of sweets, but the shortbread is the house specialty. I thought you would like to try it.“

Lucile doesn’t want to drink it. he doesn’t want to eat the cookie either. they’re both too precious to consume. Raphael ends up noticing he hasn’t touched them and giving him a cup of tea again, and though Raphael laughs and says it’s perfectly fine, Lucile can’t stop flailing inside.

when the evening comes, Lucile lets Anne finish his hot chocolate, which she does with a strange quirk in her lips, and wraps the cookie neatly in the napkin to take home. Raphael didn’t give him a receipt this time but Lucile still feels guilty, so he tears out the sketch of the cat and tucks it under the empty mug, hiding a twenty under it.

-

Lucile doesn’t speak much. he says just the bare minimum, shyly, his voice almost too quiet to hear above the tinkling of the music. Lucile doesn’t smile much either, but when he does, there’s a pure, innocent joy in the light of his eye. Raphael starts experimenting with new cookie recipes every morning again, just to see his expression whenever he comes in every day.

Lucile draws, but he’s not an artist by trade. Raphael can tell as much whenever he peers to look at Lucile’s sketchbook-- circles, most of the time, when they’re not detailed plants or copies of the latte art and cookies Raphael’s given him. Lucile leaves him a page from his sketchbook every day, slightly chocolate-stained with oil marks, and some money, even though Raphael has reminded him several times that he won’t be charging him. Raphael isn’t sure what to do with the money-- Blanche says to spend it on Lucile if Raphael likes him that much, whatever that means-- but he stows every sketch in the drawer next to his invoices.

Lucile doesn’t eat, barely drinks, and at first, it worried him. his sister Anne only giggled and told him Lucile just doesn’t eat much in general. just breakfast and then water to stay hydrated. old habits die hard, apparently.

then what does Lucile actually willingly consume? just tea, Anne said. so after closing one day, Raphael takes the time to flip through the local tea shop’s website and pick out a few choices for the cafe.

the day his package finally arrives is the first day Lucile doesn’t come in. a shame, Raphael thinks, as he organizes the tea tins on the shelf. at the very least he’ll have some time to find the right tea and cookie combinations and start crafting a new menu for the winter season. Blanche is too often away on business trips to serve as his taste tester anymore, although she was the one who originally suggested adding tea to his repertoire. 

in the late afternoon, Raphael finally has time to read over the various tea steeping instructions. he’s frowning at the manual when the door opens and Lucile steps in timidly, looking much like the lost puppy he seemed when he first walked in. he doesn’t have his sketchbook this time-- probably because he won’t be staying for long-- and he’s wearing a new scarf, wool patterned royal blue with white stars, and a new coat, a black hooded jacket in time for the chill. his long white hair is mussed up from the wind, tucked haphazardly under his scarf and coat, and it’s all seemingly tossed roughly onto him. he sees Anne wink at him from outside the cafe, before she escapes toward the building’s elevators. 

Raphael frowns, but he can’t find it in himself to feel annoyed. Lucile takes his usual spot by the window and somehow, as he always seems to be, completely unaware of Raphael’s presence. well, it is almost closing time. Raphael removes his apron and places it into the sink, before starting his kettle.

“good evening, Lucile.”

it takes a blink or two for the other man to realize that Raphael is placing a tray onto the table. on it are a teapot, two teacups, a kettle, and a plate of shortbread cookies. Lucile looks at them with a vaguely interested expression, before looking up to see Raphael sit across from him at the table. as if suddenly realizing he has to respond, Lucile says quietly, “oh, hello, Raphael.”

Raphael only smiles. Lucile’s gaze returns back to the plate of cookies. they’re tiny stars, gingerbread men, christmas trees, and snowflakes-- not his usual cute animal shapes. Raphael waits patiently, watching the minute movement in his eye as Lucile fixates on each and every one of them in turn, his eye just barely concealing his curiosity.

finally, Lucile notices the silence. “oh,” he says, blinking. “did I come at the wrong time? Anne said you were still open.”

“for another ten minutes,” Raphael chuckles. “I usually have a cup of coffee before closing up. well,” he says as an aside and waves at the tea tray. “since the tea finally came in, I decided I would try one of them today. peppermint with white chocolate, for the holidays.”

“I see.” but it’s obvious Lucile doesn’t.

“that’s an invitation, Lucile,” Raphael nudges gently. he lifts the teapot to pour the hot tea into the two cups, taking one in his hand when he’s done and offering the other to Lucile. “would you like to join me for tea?”

it takes him a moment but eventually Lucile nods. “yes,” and his lips curve into a tiny, meek smile. “I would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the setting is some city’s financial/business district. after his younger sister, Noblesse, moved out and he quit his job at a famous restaurant, 
> 
> Royal Guard opens a tiny cafe on the first floor of an office building downtown. meanwhile, Demonio does his best to adapt to civilian life, and his older sister, Diabla, while understanding, isn’t very helpful.
> 
>  **Raphael** , the angel of healing, because angel names are my _thing_.
> 
>  **Lucile** , derived from _lux_ , light.
> 
>  **Blache** , meaning _white_. from No _bl_ esse.
> 
>  **Anne** , from Di _a_ bla.


	13. 13; (piano!au) dl / rg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 13; Dreadlord (Misha), Royal Guard (Raphael), Noblesse (Blanche); mentions of Chiliarch (Lili)  
> pairing: Dreadlord / Royal Guard
> 
> (classical music/piano au) a kind of love story between a man who stopped playing the piano and the man who loves him.

Misha’s lying on the couch with his phone in his face when Raphael hangs a ticket in front of him. Misha blinks slowly, tilting his head to see Raphael smile warmly.

“to the opening night of Lanox Symphonic Orchestra.”

Misha sits up properly and can’t help but crack a grin. “what? are you finally asking me out?”

Raphael laughs, that calm, relaxed laugh. his blue eyes are soft when he says, “would you like you come with me?”

and Misha takes the ticket with an easy smile. “do you have to ask? of course I will.”

-

_“here, I’ll play something for you,” Raphael says, circling around the grand piano to sit at it. Misha only has his hands stuffed in his pocket, his brow wrinkled, looking on as Raphael adjusts his coat behind him with one swift motion. naturally, as if he hasn’t for a day stopped playing._

_Misha knows. that’s why they’re in the music store in the first place. already, Raphael is tapping the keys with his fingers, padding notes carefully as a warm-up, tellingly relaxed, at ease._

_so Misha says, “play Moonlight Sonata, third movement.”_

_the look Raphael gives him is startled, surprised. like he can’t believe Misha knows the name to any piece. like he can’t believe Misha actually knows the name of_ this _piece. Misha sits down on the piano bench. “Beethoven,” he adds for good measure._

_“please, Misha,” and Raphael gives him that smooth smile. it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not that amazing. I’ll play you something from this book.”_

_but before he can reach for the sheets, Misha grabs his wrist and Raphael stiffens up. Misha presses, “I’m right, aren’t I? Moonlight Sonata, third movement-- that’s the piece you’re always listening to when I’m not around. the same piece you put on several weeks ago when I got dumped. there’s a reason why you’re always listening to it, right?”_

_“Misha.” Raphael pulls his hand back, shifting his gaze to the piano keys. Misha can see his right hand flex, before settling onto the keys. a few notes ring out as it presses down gently. his smile is more broken now. “I said, I’m not that good. I can’t play it.”_

_“slowly then,” Misha says. then in a softer voice, even he didn’t know he was capable of, he says, “I know you can.”_

-

the seats they have are on the second floor, overlooking the stage down below. Misha supposes Raphael would have these seats, being the person he is, and Misha fiddles with his cuffs to pass the time. it feels strange to wear a dress shirt without his waist apron without a bottle opener in his hand and he says as much to Raphael.

“stop thinking about work, Misha,” Raphael chuckles, and Misha tries to settle in his seat, looking restlessly around at the other people. they’re all dressed in casual formal, all greeting each other pleasantly. a few stop to greet Raphael and he greets them in return.

when the lights dim and the curtains raise, a hushed silence passes over the audience. a man stands on a raised podium, a conductor’s baton in his hand, illuminated by a bright spotlight. in the slightly dimmer light sits the symphony orchestra, arranged in a still fan around the conductor. Misha’s eyes are drawn to the young woman in the first chair, dressed in shimmering navy and the only one looking up at the audience. her eyes piercing and sharp blue cut through his directly.

Misha turns to Raphael, but Raphael has already closed his eyes, arms crossed in front of him. there’s a few taps on the music stand and the musicians raise their instruments. Misha looks at the crumpled paper in his hand, squinting through the darkness to see the title of the first piece.

it starts out quietly, like footsteps in a quiet home, the violinists plucking the strings as he’s seen Raphael do so many times. after a measure, the bassists step in and half of the violinists hold their bow up.

the trilling of an orchestra is different, but familiar, the sound reverberating through the hall. Raphael is tapping his foot slightly, not completely on the beats, and Misha spies his left hand twitch minutely. the pianist in the back plays chords in the same rhythm, and Misha’s eyes soften in realization.

three pieces in, Raphael pulls at his cuff.

“the next one has a violin solo.”

Misha blinks as he stops clapping, looking at the crumpled program he has in his hands. Blanche Noble, first violinist. Raphael only smiles as Misha turns to look onto the stage in curiosity. the first violinist has stood up, her small figure paling in the spotlight. the conductor turns a few pages in the stand and the young lady brushes back her long platinum blond hair to tuck her violin against her cheek. the rest of the violinists follow suit. when the conductor starts, she closes her eyes.

the calm in her expression jars him. Misha turns to look at Raphael again, and this time, he’s leaning against his hand, nodding to the soothing beat. the violinist draws her bow easily, her whole body dancing to the rhythm. takes a few steps, then back, all the while arching her back like she’s completely given to the music. just like Raphael, in front of a piano.

as the sound grows louder, her bow stutters more fiercely and her calm is replaced by the hard edge of determination. a few strings start fraying from her bow, and it whips with more intensity with each passing note. Misha watches as the rest of the violinists slow down until she’s the only one still playing, the cry of the strings thrilling through the audience.

a last few stern chords, joined in by the rest of the orchestra, and the final note. the violinist stops, holding her bow definitively into the air, and her eyes open again. when she bows, the audience starts a rumbling applause and she returns to sit at her chair.

when Misha looks Raphael, he is clapping too, his smile soft and serene, his eyes gleaming, proud.

-

_Raphael has his laptop in front of him one night when Misha returns home in the early morning. Misha raises a brow, continuing to undo his tie and shrug off his vest. before he can say anything, Raphael asks, “do you have time to listen to something?”_

_it’s four am, and there’s a tiredness on Raphael’s face, an edge in his eyes, a defensiveness he can’t read, and a sadness Misha doesn’t want to see. Misha unbuttons the top button from his white shirt and sits next to Raphael on the couch._

_he says, “sure,” and Raphael leans over to click play._

_when it starts, Misha realizes it’s Moonlight Sonata, third movement, again. not the usual arrangement Raphael is always listening to on repeat, but recording of a solo piano, its rumbling keys tinny in the low quality recording. when Misha looks at Raphael, he has his head lowered into his curled hands, his body tense. as they listen to the notes cascade easily, swiftly, Misha closes his eyes to really hear as Raphael hears._

_a few notes into the second half of the piece, something falters. the stutter is only barely perceptible, but there’s a tiny gasp on the recording. as the notes continue just a little off rhythm, the piano becomes more and more aggressive, the beat a tad quicker than the one he’s used to hearing. then suddenly amidst an oncoming crescendo, the notes slip. a few fall through, but the piano perseveres, the rhythm now stuttering unnaturally. now there is a low murmur in the audience, and Misha furrows his brows in realization, until the piece closes, too quickly, and the recording finally stops._

_they sit in dead silence for a few minutes, the tape still rolling a static white noise between them. eventually, Misha turns it off, sitting backward into the couch with a soft thump. Raphael has his face buried in his hands, fingers curling together into a prayer. then he releases a long sigh._

_“that was the last piece I performed live, in full,” Raphael says, pulling his hands from his face. his eyes are blurry, tired. “after that, I stopped.”_

_Misha lowers his eyes to Raphael’s hands._

_“you wanted to know why I don’t play anymore, right?” Raphael says, with only a hint of sadness in his smile. “my sister was starting her own career as a violinist. my aunt and uncle couldn’t be very supportive of her, so I came back home to help her. that’s the story I tell everyone.”_

_Raphael is silent for a few moments and Misha lets him have it._

_“but the truth is, it’s because I_ had _to stop. for this piece, I practiced all day, every day, for weeks. ” Raphael’s smile becomes brittle. “though I’d be lying if I call it practicing. even when I started feeling a sharp-- pain in my hands, I pushed on. even after I performed this piece, I still continued to play. Blanche had to take the piano away, but by that time, every time I played, it hurt.”_

_“that’s why you’re always telling the kids to be careful,” Misha offers. “because it happened to you.”_

_“I was stubborn. young. I felt invincible,” Raphael chuckles, but there’s a distance in his eyes. “if I could play the piano, everything was fine. I survived once, I could survive again. I still had my sister. I still had my hands. I could still play the piano. so when I had to stop, I felt like I lost everything all over again.”_

_he’s looking down at his hands blankly and they’re shaking. Misha leans over to take one of Raphael’s hands into his and waits._

_“a month before I moved here, I asked my aunt to help me give away our piano. I was only tutoring kids and it had been two years since I actually played anything. I thought I had… gotten over it.” Raphael grips Misha’s hand tightly. “but in the end, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. you’re right, Misha. even after five years, I couldn’t let it go.”_

_“you were just dumb enough to think you could,” Misha says, and he catches himself when Raphael laughs self-deprecatingly. “sorry, didn’t mean to call you dumb. I mean,” he amends, looking away. “if you love something enough, it’ll work out in the end, right? you can recover from injuries if you give it time. I looked it up.”_

_“so you did,” Raphael allows, a tiny smile on his face._

_Misha glances down at their hands. “I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to help, but if there is, tell me. I want to see you play the piano again.”_

_“this is weird to hear from you,” Raphael says with a wry quick of his brow. “you don’t care about music.”_

_“I care about you, alright?” Misha says firmly, his grasp tightening around Raphael’s hand. “you just seem happier when you’re playing the piano. I just want to see you happy.”_

_Raphael smiles, faintly amused. “are you confessing to me now?”_

_Misha blinks, but Raphael hasn’t pulled away as he would have before. “I guess,” he says, then with a smile, “maybe I am.”_

-

Misha waits outside the venue, milling about with the murmuring crowd, alone. he’s looking at his missed messages on his phone, brow furrowed in concentration..

[wow!! a proposal at a concert hall! how romantic~]  
[when’s the wedding misha? can i be your best man]

[lili] he types, [he’s just inviting me to his sister’s concert]

the reply comes instantaneously.

[best lady then?]  
[or if you preferrrr]  
[best lili]

Misha stifles a laugh and taps out a response. [lili do you really think] he furrows his brow, searching for the right term, [that it’s a good idea to date him]

[what]  
[you aren’t already??? you guys are practically married???]  
[?????????]  
[didn’t you confess????]  
[i thought you said you confessed to him????]

[i don’t think so?]  
[i mean he just smiled and didn’t say anything about it after that]  
[so i didn’t]  
[follow up]

[so what did you do then]

[i made him breakfast]

[christ]  
[misha get your fucking shit together]  
[raph fucking likes you]  
[why else do you think he picks up your sorry ass every time you get dumped]  
[or tolerate your dramatic shit]  
[do i need to go over there and beat some Lili Sense™ into you]  
[brb booking flight]

“Misha, are you talking to your sister?”

Misha jumps, pocketing his phone quickly, as he turns to see Raphael smiling wryly at him, a violin case in hand. “what? how can you tell?”

Raphael only touches the bridge of his nose and Misha rubs at his own self-consciously.

“you always have a funny look on your face when you’re talking to her,” he says before they hear a sharp cough. Raphael smiles a bit sheepishly, before gesturing to the young lady standing behind him. the first violinist, Misha remembers. “Misha, this is my younger sister, Blanche. Blanche, this is--”

“Misha.” Blanche takes a few steps forward, her eyes sharply piercing and blue. her high heels make her seem taller than she is and her dress elegantly flattering. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Misha smiles, bowing low to take on the challenge in her eyes. “it’s pleasant you meet you, Miss Blanche.”

“the same to you, Misha,” Blanche says icily.

“Blanche, be nice,” Raphael chides. “Misha took time off to accompany me here.”

“I don’t like him, Raphael,” she says, clicking her tongue, and Misha only snorts.

“I wasn’t asking you to, Blanche.” Raphael says, ever so calmly. Blanche continues to stare at Misha, her stern eyes matching his amused ones, but his smile falters when she pulls at his tie, bringing him roughly to her eye level.

“if you hurt my brother, I will personally see to your end,” Blanche whispers in a threat. Misha swallows nervously.

when she releases him, Misha straightens up cautiously, rubbing at his neck. Raphael has placed a hand on Blanche’s shoulder, looking rather apologetic. “sorry about that, Blanche was rather excited to hear that you were coming.”

Misha only frowns. “excited?”

“in any case, Raphael, my friends have asked me to join them for dinner again,” Blanche says, still eying Misha, before turning to look at Raphael. “though I suppose you won’t be needing my company this time.”

“I think I’ll be fine,” Raphael says, a smile cresting on his lips. Blanche finally smiles in return, a sincere warmth softening her sharp features.

“I’m glad. I’ll call you about breakfast tomorrow then. and your boyfriend can join too,” Blanche points a finger at Misha. “you’re not out of the woods yet, Misha. prepare yourself for an interrogation.”

Raphael rolls his eyes again. “yes, yes, Blanche.”

Misha only stares blankly as she walks away, processing her words slowly. eventually, he turns to Raphael and says, “she said boyfriend.”

Raphael quirks a brow at his confusion. “you’re surprised? but Blanche does have a habit of assuming things.”

“what? no, stop that, Raph. don’t try to explain her.” Misha shakes his head. “what did you tell her about me?”

“I told her that I wanted to bring someone who I care about very much, who cares a lot about me too,” Raphael says with a gentle smile. “is that wrong?”

“no,” and a grin slowly widens on Misha’s face. he places a hand on Raphael’s shoulder, leaning in close to whisper in his ear: “does that mean I can kiss you then?”

and Raphael laughs and presses his lips lightly against Misha’s. Misha pulls away first, a surprised look on his face.

“really?” Misha has to ask. “actually?”

“god, Misha,” Raphael tells him, still laughing, “yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the setting is modern day, in a large town. Royal Guard and Dreadlord have been roommates for awhile. they both have problems and I spent way too long thinking of their backstories. maybe I’ll write a second part that revolves around Dreadlord, because his story’s interesting too.
> 
> this one focuses on Royal Guard. Royal Guard is a former pianist, who now tutors kids at a music store. after his parents died in an accident, Royal Guard dedicates himself to playing the piano in order to support his sister, Noblesse, a violinist. plagued by survivor’s guilt, he ends up injuring himself and is forced to quit. five years later, he moves in with Dreadlord, who notices that Royal Guard’s always listening the same song on repeat.
> 
> I just really wanted one of my pairing fics to actually have something that’s actually somewhat romantic. I tried.
> 
>  _[Moonlight Sonata](https://youtu.be/352qLWqKN-U)_ , third movement. a turbulent piece.
> 
> I apologize for any errors in musical references.
> 
> Misha - Dreadlord  
> Lili - Chiliarch  
> Blanche - Noblesse  
> Raphael - Royal Guard


	14. ch, dl; nb, rg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> characters: Chiliarch, Dreadlord, Noblesse, Royal Guard
> 
> the awakening; one who understands only life and death knows nothing about pride and prejudice.

when the smoke clears, it is only because of the gusts driving between the black canyons. the bodies flake into black soot, blue flames curdle rivers of blood into viscous ooze.

his blade drips indigo where it pierces the heart of the corpse. his grip shakes, unsteady; his body heaves with exertion. the thick blood that coat his hands and his clothes drip from gashes on his body. his breathing rattles, his eyes, bloodshot, flashing a deep, menacing violet.

“Ciel?”

her voice echos in the deep crevice. her own claws are stained with demon blood, wind threading ash between her strands of white hair, but she takes a hesitant step toward him.

the ground is laced with destruction and death, fractured stone, sizzling flesh. her steps quicken when his legs collapse and he falls to his knees.

“Ciel!”

he swallows, but his breaths are still strangled. one of his blades fall with a clack against the stone ground; the other shakes, his grip faltering.

“Ciel? Ciel?”

when he doesn’t answer, she touches his hair, scorched white chasing fading blue, and folds her fingers between the strands. she wraps her arms around his shaking shoulders.

“you did it, Ciel,” she murmurs gently. “I knew you could do it.”

“did I?”

his voice rasps, disbelieving, but he places his head onto her shoulder. 

“yes, Ciel.” her voice is a soothing calm. she nudges her head against his. “thank you, Ciel.”

-

he notices, when he stands behind the Chiliarch, the sudden restlessness in the demon ranks. apprehension, awe, as they watch their Chiliarch close a pact between her and the demon lord, her fingers drawing her magic into the seal.

he notices, the curious gleam in the demon’s eye, and he tosses the hilt of a blade into his hand and thrusts it through the demon’s throat with no hesitation.

“Lu-- ciela! ” comes the strangled gurgle of blood. too slowly, the commander falls; before his body reaches the ground, the Chiliarch sweeps her royal blue cloak around her and they both disappear into the wall of darkness.

too slowly, shock then rage rises from the leaderless ranks. too slowly, they realize the arrival of the Dreadlord.

-

Lu is quiet, her knees pulled up against her chest, her hands tented in thought. Ciel tends the fire, even though his fingers will not warm with the air. her gaze is distant, solemn, and then she turns toward him, her eyes sparkling in concern.

“Ciel.”

his hand briefly pauses in a stroke. the flame flickers, but Ciel’s expression remains blank. “hm?” when there is a gap of silence, he looks up toward her, but she has turned her head away. “Lu?” then, he pauses to frown. “did I do something wrong?”

her hesitance is enough to confirm his suspicion. Lu shakes her head, then reaches over to take the stick from his loose hand. “get some rest, Ciel.”

his brow furrows. “is there something wrong, Lu? was that man--”

“Ciel,” and Lu gives him a small smile, tucking her fingers into his hand. “sleep. you will need the energy tomorrow.”

-

it is because he insists on striking to kill. an enemy cannot be a threat if they are dead, after all. but Ciel has killed thousands upon thousands and awakened wave upon wave of demonic warriors that the armies of any lord competent enough to be afraid pour down from the mountains.

it is because he awakened as  _ Dreadlord _ , the singular king of demons for centuries past, but as one who serves under the command of the  _ Chiliarch _ , one worthy of the title of legend.

but their instincts itch and their egos protest, and the demons refuse to be ruled by a former human. his strength and weakness are simultaneously one.

but Ciel doesn’t understand. one who understands only life and death knows nothing about pride and prejudice.

Lu draws a seal, summoning every ounce of demonic magic in her body, to rend time and space into two.

when she takes his hand and pulls him in behind her, she prays for solace.

-

they fall with a flashbang into a forest of desolate dawn. Ciel recovers quicker, rolling over to gather Lu in his arms. she curls into him, her breaths shaking with strained exhaustion, and he holds her closer to him protectively.

“Ciel, they’re gone,” she whispers, when he draws out a dagger. the rustling is just innocent wind, but in the demon world, there is no life but the ones that will kill them. Lu presses her head against his cheek. “calm down, Ciel.”

Ciel only surveys the trees with suspicion, but obediently, reluctantly, pockets his knife. “where…”

“another world.”

he asks no other questions. Lu drifts to sleep as Ciel searches the grounds for a shelter.

-

his eyes are deep blue, emotive, surprised. Ciel steps back warily, shifting Lu to carry her with one arm. Lu stirs, blinking open her eyes, to see what Ciel is not seeing: the guarded hesitation on the man’s face, the demonic seal in the man’s hands, the concerned eyes on her, rather than on him.

“don’t,” Lu commands simply, when Ciel reaches for a blade at his waist. then when he stills in muted confusion, to the familiar stranger in front of them she says, “I’m sorry for the trouble. do you know the master of this house?”

when the man replies, Ciel hears his own voice fall from his lips. “yes,” then the man glances away, then back to her. “were you looking for an audience with the Noblesse?”

Ciel doesn’t speak, but Lu places a hand over his.

“yes, we would appreciate that.”

-

“we did not expect guests as eminent as you,  _ Chiliarch _ . I apologize for not anticipating your visit,” the Noblesse says, then to the Royal Guard, “would you please prepare a suite for our guests? some tea and cookies will be wonderful as well, dear.”

her butler bows and exits the room. from her seat across the tea table, the Chiliarch gives her a faint smile in return, while the Dreadlord’s gaze follows the man to the closing door. when it closes with a stiff click, he visibly starts.

the Chiliarch bows her head. “forgive us for our intrusion,  _ Noblesse _ . had I more foresight, I would have brought gifts.”

“your presence is a gift in itself,  _ Chiliarch _ . to think we would be graced by a demon of legendary status,” the Noblesse chuckles. “it is a welcome surprise, to say nothing of your companion.”

the Dreadlord returns his gaze to the demon lords, only to flinch under the Noblesse’s exacting gaze. the Chiliarch reaches out to stay his hand and he nearly drops his dagger.

“he is not used to seeing a demon such as yourself.” and the Chiliarch shakes her head tiredly. “please understand,  _ Noblesse _ .”

the Noblesse smiles. “do not worry,  _ Chiliarch _ .”

when the Royal Guard returns with a fresh pot of tea, the Noblesse addresses him. “we will have our tea tomorrow morning, dear. I believe our guests would like some rest first and foremost.”

the Royal Guard simply places the tray onto the tea table and wipes his hands dry with a handkerchief. his hesitant eyes meet wary ones, and the Dreadlord’s grip on the back of the Chiliarch’s chair tightens.

the Noblesse simply pours herself a cup of tea. “I believe you two deserve a proper introduction.” she gestures to her servant. “Royal Guard,” then to the Chiliarch’s, “Dreadlord.

“Ciel,” the Noblesse’s clear voice continues, to the Dreadlord’s surprise. then she moves her hand back toward the Royal Guard, who blinks blankly. “Ciel.”

“what?” the Dreadlord says.

“I did say we were in another world, Ciel,” the Chiliarch reminds him kindly. then she offers the Royal Guard a smile as understanding dawns on him. “may I call you,  _ Raulen, _ Ciel? I do not want to confuse you two more than we already have.”

the Royal Guard seems startled that she addresses him directly. the Noblesse’s smile is amused, and the Royal Guard nods. “that is fine, Chiliarch.”

the Chiliarch nods too in reply, before turning toward the Noblesse, “you may call my Ciel,  _ Drealen _ , if it pleases you,  _ Noblen _ .”

the Dreadlord only looks at his counterpart then with startled confusion, at the Noblesse’s too familiar laugh. “ah, the days of youth.  _ Noblen _ . then I will christen you,  _ Chialen _ . is that acceptable, dear?”

“of course! that is more than acceptable,” the Chiliarch says, sparkling in happiness.

-

it takes a few days. a few days of Chiliarch tangling her limbs around his body, so Dreadlord can’t leave the bed before mid-morning. a few days of Dreadlord pacing the perimeter of the garden, throwing knives at unsuspecting birds. a few days of Chiliarch sharing tea and sweets with Noblesse at supper and Royal Guard offering him coffee at dawn, before Dreadlord finally relaxes and takes the mug.

“do you always invite strangers into your home?”

Royal Guard looks up from stirring his cup. Dreadlord isn’t looking at him, his mug brought up to his lips, his gaze fixed out the window.

“not always, but… we receive visitors often. nobles and commanders from the demon world,” Royal Guard offers.

Dreadlord frowns instinctively. “and you trust them? what if they’re plotting something? what if they attack?”

the implication goes unsaid. Royal Guard places his cup onto the countertop and answers easily, “it rarely happens. but when it comes to it, I handle it then.”

now Dreadlord looks toward him, his eyes scanning the other man. after a moment, he turns away again and there’s a touch of lost confusion in his tone.

“I’ve never met a demon who didn’t want to kill us.” 

Royal Guard quirks a brow. “then what does that make us?”

Dreadlord doesn’t reply immediately, but his brow crinkles as he takes another sip of coffee. 

“you’re different. you’re human,” Dreadlord says. and then he shrugs, avoiding Royal Guard’s eye. “and she… is Lu.”


	15. encounter (1/2); ch, dl, nb, rg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> encounter (1/2); Chiliarch, Dreadlord, Noblesse, Royal Guard
> 
> "do you understand, Ciel? he yearns to be guided, and led. he yearns to be punished; for what reason-- you will have to ask him yourself."
> 
> (for Dreadlord, he only wishes so badly to protect.
> 
> for Royal Guard, he does not wish to be forgiven.)

in between the world of the demons and the world of the humans is a twilight of silence. where the sun still rises and sets, but a seeping darkness remains, the world a grayer, muted version of both. into this world Chiliarch steps, feet feather light against the dewy grass, gauntlets extended before her. Dreadlord follows, bracing his gunblades cautiously behind him. his fingers twitch reflexively against the hilt of his weapons, still, droplets of fresh demon blood trickling down its edges.

Chiliarch turns around, retracting her claws into a single gauntlet, before placing a firm hand onto Dreadlord’s shoulder and muttering a few words in her demonic tongue. the portal before her pulses slowly then splutters shut, leaving an ashen stain against the stone path. Dreadlord takes a moment to release an exhausted sigh before rising to full height.

“feeling better now, Ciel?” Chiliarch offers him a smile. he turns to her, eyes still dark and wary, and her smile slides from her face.

“sorry, Lu,” Dreadlord murmurs quietly, turning to look away from her. Chiliarch simply finds his hand and tucks her hand in his securely.

“come on, we can relax now, Ciel,” she says, voice chipper though her expression is softer, more solemn. and then with an encouraging tug: “come, Ciel.”

Dreadlord acquiesces wordlessly, as Chiliarch takes them to the threshold of the old manse. it stands, presiding grandly over the edges of the forest, frame creaking heavily when Chiliarch pushes open the towering oak door. its dust floats serenely in the emptiness, faint tendrils of energy tangling playfully in the calm. there’s a few muffled voices and Chiliarch tilts her head in curiosity. Dreadlord has barely closed the front door when Chiliarch glances at him quickly and then away.

“come, Ciel. let’s go to our room.”

Dreadlord blinks but follows her without protest. at the foot of the stairs, before the door of the sitting room, the voices become louder, and Dreadlord pauses, even as Chiliarch’s pull becomes firmer and more insistent.

“Noblesse?” and Dreadlord’s eyes narrow when a gravelly voice speaks.

“Ciel,” Chiliarch all but commands, but Dreadlord has already slammed the door open violently. “ _Ciel_.”

she follows him into the room, only to see her Ciel toss a struggling demon roughly to the ground, drawing a bloody blade against his neck. Dreadlord waits for her command, but Chiliarch says nothing, curling her nails into her palms, forcing herself to hold her silence.

“ah, _Dreadlord_ , welcome back.”

Dreadlord looks up from the demon’s fearful eyes and to the Noblesse looking down upon him from her throne. she sits, shining blue eyes gleaming with haughty bemusement, a teacup held daintily in her hand. next to her, Royal Guard stands, brow just barely raised in surprise. with a huff, Dreadlord returns his gaze to the demon below him, pushing his blade flush against the demon’s throat.

as if his trance was broken by Noblesse’s words, the noble splutters out a cry. “my-- my Noblesse, what is-- _who_ is-- did you say--”

Noblesse covers her smile with her cup. “I apologize for the disruption, my Duke. _Dreadlord_ , would you be so kind to release the poor fellow?”

Dreadlord simply stares down upon the quivering form, who seems now to have realized the full meaning of his title. Dreadlord starts, voice even, “Noblesse, this man--”

“ _Dreadlord_ ,” Noblesse interrupts him coldly, her voice dripping with sharp condescension. Dreadlord’s grip slips but doesn’t ease. “the Duke is an important part of my alliance. I would prefer that you refrain from murdering him in my presence.”

“release him, Ciel,” Chiliarch whispers finally. immediately, Dreadlord turns away from the prostrated demon, snatching his gunblade up into his hand with a casual sweep. he returns obediently to Chiliarch’s side, his expression only silent seething. Chiliarch rubs his arm gently in comfort, but she looks past him to Noblesse, her wary, questioning eyes meeting a reserved, thoughtful gaze.

“my Duke, we will adjourn our meeting for now,” Noblesse says crisply, as the noble scrambles back into a bow. she places the teacup onto Royal Guard’s offered tray. “I wish you a safe trip back and hope you will reconsider your ill-conceived plans. enemies of the Noblesse would be a terrible thing to make.”

the Duke lowers his head to meet the ground. “thank you, my Noblesse.”

Noblesse hums in answer. “Ciel, please escort the Duke out.”

Royal Guard nods and the demon stands to follow. the Duke offers the terror lords a curious, still fearful glance, and Chiliarch returns it, her expression coolly defiant, fingers clenching Dreadlord’s sleeve tightly. when the door finally slides shut, she lets go.

“stay here, Ciel,” Chiliarch says sternly, before snatching the doorknob and stepping out behind them. Dreadlord doesn’t respond, his gaze fixed stubbornly onto the wall, curling his fingers restlessly around the hilt of his blades. Noblesse lets out an audible sigh.

“ _Drealen_ , look at me.” Dreadlord shifts to look at her finally, only to feel Noblesse’s finger at his chin. he flinches away, but her smoldering eyes lock onto his. “I cannot tolerate insubordination,  _Drealen_. understand? should you disobey me in the future, there _will_ be consequences.”

“you can’t tell me what to do,” Dreadlord hisses, pushing her hand away. “I only listen to Lu.”

“but I _am_ Lu,” Noblesse says, a smile widening smugly on her lips. “and you are Ciel. and I know you more than you do yourself. you _will_ listen to me, _Ciel_.”

Dreadlord looks away, clenching his gunblades tightly in his hands, staunchly refusing to meet her eyes. “I’m not like _him_ , _Noblesse_. don’t treat me like a mindless servant.”

“a mindless servant, Ciel is not. that he doesn’t speak to object simply means he understands me well.” Noblesse lifts the edges of her lips coyly and raps her knuckles against his chest. “by contrast, it appears _Chialen_ spoils you too much, _Drealen._ ”

Dreadlord’s fingers twitch around his weapons, but Noblesse blinks, turns to narrow her eyes at the closed door.

“do you sense that, _Drealen_?”

 _that_ \-- a shuttering, blinking, creeping chill. the door bursts open with howling winds and house shakes with the force. the darkness deepens, wails loud with the souls of the underground.

in the courtyard garden, the demon portal pulses, blue sludge dripping from the thick haze. around it lay smoking corpses, demons that stepped into this dimension only to be promptly slaughtered. the Duke himself lies in a pool of indigo blood.

Chiliarch drops her gauntlet against the ground, her breaths strained, as Royal Guard stands before her, his Marbas in hand, a scattering of shining souls dancing about him.

“ _Raulen_ , stand back,” Chiliarch calls out. “I need to close it. we don’t know when they will bring reinforcements.”

Royal Guard simply holds his ground, doesn’t answer.

“ _Raulen_ ,” Chiliarch says again, desperately, when Dreadlord places a steady hand at her back. with a relieved breath, she leans into his arms, allowing him to lower her gently to the ground.

Noblesse descends the steps, her lips moving to carve a demonic spell under her breath. slowly but surely, the portal flickers and fades, before it shrinks into oblivion. it isn’t until the clouded darkness is completely lifted when Royal Guard stows his Marbas and approaches Chiliarch, concern in his eyes. he crouches in front of her, places a hand gently on her head.

“are you hurt, Chiliarch?”

Chiliarch smiles gratefully in reply, rubbing her head against his hand affectionately. “merely exhausted. thank you, _Raulen_.”

“I am relieved,” Noblesse murmurs. Royal Guard looks up at her, as she paces to the center of the courtyard, where the portal had spawned. “I suspected that he was planning a raid, though I didn’t realized he would actually follow through. especially not after the scare _Drealen_ so graciously gave him.”

Dreadlord frowns, but Noblesse smiles to herself in amusement. “or perhaps, that moment merely forced his hand.”

Dreadlord starts to protest, but Chiliarch silences him with a stern look.

“in any case, _Chialen_ , I suppose you and _Drealen_ are both completely exhausted from your excursion,” Noblesse says, casually breaking the silence, as Royal Guard stands up. “Ciel, please start a warm bath for them and change out the linens in their room. I’m sure they would appreciate a good night’s rest.”

Royal Guard nods, before returning inside swiftly. Dreadlord stands to follow, carrying Chiliarch securely in his arms. the small demon lord tucks herself in his hold, closing her eyes tiredly.

Noblesse simply smiles, humming as the corpses dissolve into dust and the souls that remain echo in symphony around her.

“and of course, welcome home, my dears.”


	16. encounter (2/2); ch, dl, nb, rg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> encounter (2/2); Chiliarch, Dreadlord, Noblesse, Royal Guard
> 
> "but Ciel-- he only wants to protect me. it seems so strange to me, that his only desire is to protect."

“fuck Noblesse.”

Royal Guard flinches slightly when Dreadlord throws his battered jacket roughly onto the floor. he knows Dreadlord’s mouth is looser when he’s not around Chiliarch, but his propensity for profanity still takes him by surprise.

“how do you even stand it? how do you stand _Noblesse_?”

Royal Guard looks over from where he’s tending to the steaming water, at the demon lord leaning against the bathroom sink. Dreadlord’s glaring a hole into the opposite wall, tugging his leather gloves restlessly, so he demures an answer. “I learned a long time ago that around the nobles, it was better for me to let her handle the politics.”

“so?” Dreadlord throws his glove at the wall. “I let Lu handle all the talking too. doesn’t give Noblesse the right to boss me around.”

his implication goes unsaid and Royal Guard is glad Dreadlord doesn’t pursue it.

“she’s only looking out for you,” Royal Guard explains, as he dips a finger into the warm water. “should you have killed the noble there, the entire league would turn against us.”

Dreadlord deadpans, “but you killed him in the end.”

“so I did.” Royal Guard stands, turning off the faucet and pulling his gloves back on. “the moment he betrayed us, Lu wanted me to eliminate him. appearances probably don’t matter in your realm, but it matters a lot more in ours.”

“right. that’s why you act like a mute servant around everyone but me.” Dreadlord pulls his silk tie loose, shrugging off his stained vest, and tosses them with the rest of his blood-soaked clothes. Royal Guard busies himself with soap and towels near the basin just to avoid looking his alternate in the eye.

“if we lose the trust of the nobles, we would no longer be safe here.” Royal Guard pauses before continuing, “and of all of us, you need this place the most.”

Dreadlord is silent for awhile, as he unbuttons and tugs off his shirt in one fell swoop. he tosses that one into the pile too. “so you want me to obey her too?” his tone is biting, sharp, uncharacteristically defensive. “because she knows the best for me or something? do you think I’m an _idiot_?”

he calmly picks up Dreadlord’s clothes piece by piece and slinging them over his arm. “I said nothing of that sort, Dreadlord--”

“then tell me,” Dreadlord says, grabbing Royal Guard’s wrist firmly in his grasp. Royal Guard flinches, nearly dropping the shirt in his hand. “that man didn’t need an army-- he could’ve killed you whenever he wanted. I _sensed_ it the moment I saw him. tell me, _Royal Guard_ , why I couldn’t have killed him then?”

Royal Guard pulls at his wrist, but Dreadlord doesn’t let go. “Lu says your presence in this world contradicts everything these nobles know. at the very least, she wants you to be mindful of her affairs--”

“I don’t care about Noblesse,” Dreadlord interrupts. “I’m asking _you._ ”

Royal Guard looks down at the hand grasping his wrist, the white scars and bruises on the pale skin. when he looks up at Dreadlord, at his restless, anxious, and defiant eyes, his own soften and he understands. he’s seen them before-- in his own reflection.

silently daring him to care.

so Royal Guard asks, “will you listen to me, then, if you won’t listen to Noblesse?”

“give me a reason that I should.”

Royal Guard only smiles a weary smile and shakes his head. “I think, you should get some rest first, Dreadlord.”

“don’t give me that, Royal Guard.” but Royal Guard sidesteps him to the door and Dreadlord doesn’t stop him.

“come talk to me again after you cool your head.”

-

“I apologize for what happened earlier, Noblen. I should have been more aware of the situation.”

seeing the perpetually cheerful Chiliarch so small and exhausted tugs at her heart. hearing her apologize so sincerely and so defeatedly pains her. the usually imposing, unabashedly passionate demon lord is tucked into the corner of the couch, a soft blanket draped over her drooping shoulders. Noblesse pours her out a cup of chamomile tea.

“please do not apologize, _Chialen_. you could not have known of our meeting ahead of time,” Noblesse says, pressing the warm cup into the other girl’s hands. Chiliarch takes it gratefully and lets the steam rise soothingly into her face. Noblesse sits onto the couch next to her, folding her hands neatly over her knees.

“even so, it was irresponsible of me to allow it to happen.” and Chiliarch’s voice trembles slightly. “please do not blame Ciel. it was not Ciel’s fault.”

“I do not blame him,” Noblesse says to her gently and Chiliarch looks at her with moist eyes. “you both were exhausted and I have seen what _Drealen_ is like after a rough trip back to your world. but it is nothing a good night’s sleep will not fix.” Chiliarch lowers her eyes to her cup, her fingers curling around it.

“Ciel… I’m always pushing him so hard,” Chiliarch says quietly, her shoulders shaking. “he does so much, no matter how tired he is or how much pain he is in. he will fight the world for me. I’m afraid that one day, he won’t know when to stop. when he looked at that demon today and tried to kill him, his eyes-- that wasn’t _Ciel_.”

Chiliarch chokes out a hiccuped sob and Noblesse brings her into an silent embrace, rubbing her back soothingly. it’s a few long, quiet moments until Chiliarch finally pulls away, rubbing her face into the blanket.

“what can I do for him?” Chiliarch murmurs and impossibly she makes herself smaller. “I ask myself that question every day. but Ciel-- he only wants to protect me. it seems so strange to me, that his only desire is to protect.”

“Ciel,” and a smile tugs at her lips at the name, “is truly an unfathomable being. both yours and mine. but if there is something I know very well is that Ciel will never act on what he himself needs. is that not why you told _Drealen_ to follow _Raulen_?”

“mhm. otherwise, he would not have let me go. since we left the human world, _Raulen_ has been his only source of human contact,” Chiliarch says, “and _Raulen_ has been so kind to him.”

Noblesse hums in agreement. “it is good for _Drealen_ then, being here with us.”

“it is,” Chiliarch admits, taking a shy sip of the tea. “although, strangely, he does dislike you.”

Noblesse smiles mysteriously. “I wonder why.”

Chiliarch purses her lips at her ambivalent answer. “ _Noblen_ , do you tease Ciel?” she pipes up suddenly, nudging her head playfully into the other’s shoulder. “I’ll have you know I will not tolerate such a thing, _Noblen_.”

“of course, no,” Noblesse laughs, a gentle fondness entering her expression. she brushes a hand against Chiliarch’s hair, stroking her strands of white hair. “have you relaxed now, dear?”

“yes, thank you for listening to me, _Noblen_ ,” Chiliarch smiles, leans into her touch. she gathers her blanket around her into a warm cocoon then rests softly against Noblesse. “though I still worry for Ciel.”

“when will we not?”

“I sincerely hope he is calmly taking his bath and not giving _Raulen_ a hard time,” Chiliarch mumbles and Noblesse chuckles knowingly.

-

Chiliarch is asleep, curled up into a ball on the couch in front of the warm fire, her long socks and jacket tossed haphazardly onto the rug in front of her. Noblesse is resting against her, eyes closed, breaths gentle and quiet. the door opens quietly Dreadlord steps in, sweeping quietly over to the pair. when he lower his forehead against Chiliarch’s head, she stirs sleepily.

“bath’s ready for you, Lu,” he murmurs into her hair.

“mm, Ciel, your hair is wet,” Chiliarch says with a smiling laugh, as she reaches up to touch her Ciel’s cheek. her eyes open slowly, still groggy with sleep. “do you feel better now, Ciel?”

“yes,” he says, not without a stubborn reluctance. then, more apologetically, “sorry, Lu.”

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to, Ciel,” she says, stroking his cheek with the back of her fingers. Dreadlord turns away from her, as Chiliarch shifts her gaze to Noblesse, who has woken up as well and has been calmly observing their exchange. Chiliarch nudges Dreadlord again. “come on, Ciel.”

Dreadlord says nothing and Noblesse moves to rest a hand on Chiliarch’s. “it is fine, _Chialen_. I have already forgiven him. would you like to bathe before the water cools?”

Chiliarch only looks at Dreadlord with silent concern. Dreadlord simply nods. “I’ll be fine, Lu.”

“the last time you said that you tore a demon’s head clean off,” Chiliarch says with an affectionate smile. Dreadlord straightens up with a cough. “go help _Raulen_ with the sheets, Ciel.”

“I will, Lu.”

-

“how was your bath?”

Royal Guard doesn’t look up the sheets when he hears the door creak open. Dreadlord closes the door quietly, walks over to the bed the other is in the middle of making, and collapses into it.

“ _Dreadlord_.”

and Dreadlord opens his eyes to see Royal Guard’s mildly displeased expression. then, the other sighs. “how was Chiliarch? she seemed downright exhausted.”

“Noblesse is accompanying her,” Dreadlord says, clipped. but then he pulls himself up into a sitting position and sighs. “Lu is… upset.”

Royal Guard blinks, surprised. “is she? at you?” Dreadlord doesn’t respond. “Chiliarch doesn’t strike me as someone who would become upset easily.”

Dreadlord only stares blankly at the cabinets against the wall. Royal Guard simply tucks the bedsheets in, smoothes out the remaining wrinkles. when he’s done, he sits onto the bed next to Dreadlord.

“do you want me to answer you now?”

Dreadlord blinks, looks at him out of the corner of his eyes. Royal Guard is picking at his gloves idly.

“when you asked me,” and Royal Guard pauses to chuckle. “well, you asked me many things, but primarily, you asked me why you should listen to Lu.”

Dreadlord visibly flinches. “do you _have_ to call Noblesse Lu?”

Royal Guard glances at him curiously. “I have known her as Lu longer than I have known her as Noblesse. after how long you’ve known us, I’m surprised you are only now bringing it up.”

“fine,” Dreadlord says curtly.

Royal Guard takes a moment to observe him, then continues. “Lu told me early on that if I said anything out of line the nobles will shift their attention to me. I am only half demon-- I naturally draw their curiosity. and if I did not know how to respond to them, then I should not say anything at all.”

“but you can just kill them,” Dreadlord offers.

Royal Guard lets out an exasperated sigh. “you do not kill allies, Dreadlord.”

“former allies.”

Royal Guard rolls his eyes, but there’s a cheeky grin on Dreadlord’s face.

“secondly, you’re an anomaly in this world. both you and Chiliarch, but you even more so,” Royal Guard says evenly. “the nobles do not know how to react to you, and in the face of the unknown, they are more prone to retaliate. … had you not appeared, I doubt the Duke would have attacked us.”

“so you’re blaming me for his stupidity?”

“I am not blaming you for anything. I’m just pointing out the nature of your situation,” Royal Guard points out bluntly. “you are the Lord of Terror, if you have so conveniently forgotten already. your mere presence makes enemies out of possible allies.”

Dreadlord rolls his eyes, shifts to lean against the headboard, crosses his arms thoughtfully. then he sighs, closing his eyes. there’s a long silence when Dreadlord finally starts.

“it was just supposed to be a short visit. Lu needed to fortify the contract she had with Apollyon. during the ritual, we were ambushed by another demon lord. take a guess who it was.”

Royal Guard blinks, connects the dots. “the Duke in your world?”

“apparently, while we were gone, he rounded up a few of the other demon lords into an army. an existential threat, they said.” Dreadlord looks down at his hand, skin rough with callouses. “they were after me.”

“I… see.”

“ _politics_ ,” Dreadlord says simply, dropping his hand to his side. “I’m tired of their shit. I’m tired of the underworld. if Lu wasn’t around, I’d probably wind up killing them all.”

“why don’t you tell her not to go back anymore?” Royal Guard suggests gently.

“she needs to,” Dreadlord says vaguely. “I can’t tell her not to.”

“have you asked her why?” Dreadlord gives him an incredulous look and Royal Guard shrugs. “Chiliarch seems like she would tell you.”

“you don’t know Lu very well at all then.” Dreadlord shakes his head.

Royal Guard smiles. “I would beg to differ.”


	17. noblesse oblige; ch, dl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> noblesse oblige: Chiliarch, Dreadlord
> 
> because to him, Lu has always been kind.

“Ciel, do you know what  _ Noblesse  _ means?”

Ciel pauses in the middle of mixing to glance at Lu, who’s perched on the stool in the kitchen. her smile is knowing, blue eyes gleaming mischievously, tail waving playfully, and he’s sure she knows he doesn’t. so he takes the measured flour and adds it slowly to his bowl. “isn’t it some kind of queen?”

“is that your final guess?” comes the smiling laughter and Ciel can’t help but smile in response. Lu continues, her tone clear, swaying in her seat, “ _ Noblesse _ is my old title. the title I had when I ruled the demon world.  _ Lady _ wouldn’t have done-- that is too plain, and  _ Lord--  _ oh  _ Lord _ , they already resented it.”

Ciel hums with understanding. it’s not often Lu talks of her past, so he lets her.

“the Noblesse was the ruler of the noble houses. the Duke, the Marquess, and the Earl-- they all served me. of course, while the title is eternal, its holder is not.” and her smile fades slightly. “it was common to see a noble one week and then the next, see them replaced by another. such are the power struggles of the nobility.”

“is that why you took on the name  _ Chiliarch _ , instead?”

“correct, Ciel!” Lu says, smilingly. “the name  _ Noblesse _ … it paints a target on your back. but as  _ Chiliarch _ , I can do as I want. it’s a new name, unhindered by the customs of the nobility.”

Ciel shifts to stir together the sugar and cinnamon. Lu leans over, poking her finger into the mixture, before Ciel pulls the bowl, nudging her hand away. “this is for the cookies, Lu.”

and the demon lord pouts adorably. “fine, Ciel.”

“go on. then you weren’t always the Noblesse?”

“when I awakened, I became so. my primogenitor was the very first Noblesse and established the power structure that held for centuries. but my direct predecessor-- he was weak, as the stories go. I suppose my peers hated me for not being naive enough to fall for their flattery or gullible enough to take advantage of, which is why they refused to call me Noblesse. I was...” Lu paused to think for a moment, leaning her cheek against against her hand. “... very much like  _ Noblen  _ is now actually.”

“I prefer you over Noblesse, any day,” Ciel interjects, and Lu only giggles.

“you really don’t like her, huh, Ciel?”

Ciel glances away from her curious, probing gaze. “you’re also much cuter than Noblesse will ever be.”

Lu chuckles, a tinkling laughter. “I am very cute, aren’t I?”

“yes, of course, Lu.”

her smile is fond, as she watches him work the cookie dough. then she says, “Ciel, do you know what  _ noblesse oblige _ means?”

when he looks up at her, her eyes are soft, solemn. Ciel looks up from where he’s rolling the dough into small balls, waits for her to continue.

“there is power in kindness,” Lu says, and her distant tone chills him to his core. “to be honorable and charitable to those who are of a lower stature. and the  _ Noblesse _ , as the one above all, is expected to rule with kindness.”

Ciel feels the puzzle pieces fit into place. he’s seen it happen in his old organization. becoming soft, complacent-- it spells the end of anyone in power. but he can’t imagine how Lu, the furious, if tiny, lord of terror, could ever have been that way.

… no, it makes sense. because to him, Lu has always been kind.

“you see, Ciel.” Lu sparkles, like a lonely star. “the path that  _ Noblen  _ took is a hard one.”


	18. coffee; rg, dm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> coffee; Royal Guard, Demonio
> 
> they have morning coffee.

Royal Guard notices, Demonio takes a single spoon of sugar in his coffee.

he notices this, as he leans against the kitchen counter, holding his own mug to his lips, eyes studiously roaming the other demon’s disheveled form. it is four-thirty am, Noblesse had no special requests for this morning, so Royal Guard stands in the kitchen, in the company of another version of himself.

even if that other self is currently half-conscious and has not yet acknowledged his presence. well, Royal Guard thinks as he takes another sip, if Demonio did realize he was there, he’d be out the door by now.

Demonio.

it doesn’t take Royal Guard very long to pick out the similarities, as he did with Dreadlord. like him, Demonio wakes up just before the crack of dawn. like Dreadlord, Demonio studiously avoids sugar, except in his single cup of coffee. and like them both, Demonio requires his morning coffee to function properly. for Demonio though, he’s not actually conscious until he has it.

Demonio suddenly drops his mug, allowing it to clack into the sink. well. Royal Guard replaces his own onto the counter behind him, crossing his arms casually. Demonio’s eye skirts away from his discerning gaze.

“good morning, Demonio.”

and Demonio offers him a quiet, “good morning.”

rough, coarse, as if he’s unused to speaking. Demonio seems to prefer to let Diabla do all the talking and is completely silent in almost all cases otherwise. Royal Guard understands this at least; he himself never speaks unless he’s not around Noblesse, and unless Noblesse is directly addressing him. it’s simply not necessary for him to talk out of line.

there’s a nervous silence, when Royal Guard comments, “you seem to have healed well.” Demonio barely looks up at him, before looking at his restless clenching, fingers, stained blue like with ink. Dreadlord said to him once, that it’s probably the blood of the demons he has killed. Royal Guard prefers not to think about it.

“yes,” Demonio answers.

Demonio’s eye, though, frightens him the most. a deeper taint of blue, and the emptiness, taken alone, it is enough to entertain the idea his alternate self has lost all sense of self. but when his eye twitches, his fingers shake too, and Royal Guard realizes it’s not madness-- it’s pain.

“you…” and Royal Guard blinks at this unprompted address. “ _ Raulen _ ? is… that your name?”

Royal Guard has to blink once, then twice, then remembers it’s the name Chiliarch refers to him by because she will not call him Ciel. it appears to be a demonic nicknaming convention and also a convenient way to resolve the issue of needing to call everyone something different.

“a name of mine, yes,” Royal Guard says. “though my name is also Ciel.”

Demonio’s eye falters slightly, and Royal Guard has to stamp the instinct to pull out Marbas in defense. he needs to stop misreading his full demon alternate. Demonio’s voice comes out as a whisper, “Ciel…”

Royal Guard stiffens slightly when he finally realizes Demonio is examining him. then finally, he pulls away. “she is kind to you.”

and Royal Guard blinks, surprised. “is it unusual, for her to be kind?”

and Demonio lifts his eyes to gaze into his. he opens his lips, but it takes awhile for words to come out. finally, he says, “I’m sorry.”


	19. fear; dl, dm focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pairing: Dreadlord / Demonio  
> characters: all Luciels
> 
> it's not fear that Dreadlord notices in his eyes.

is Demonio is afraid of him?

at least, that’s the conclusion Dreadlord’s come to. Royal Guard only shrugs absently, focused more on the dishes he’s washing. Dreadlord is a formidable fighter-- there’s a clack of ceramic onto the metal drying rack-- and also the Great Lord of Fear and Terror. of course, Demonio is afraid, Royal Guard says with a trace of a smile. Dreadlord frowns, doesn’t buy it.

but it’s not _fear_ \-- that, he can sense from miles away. it’s the steady gaze when Demonio thinks he isn’t looking, one quickly averted when Dreadlord looks over at him. it’s the hovering just out of reach, escaping silently out the door the moment Dreadlord takes a step toward him. it’s, when Chiliarch smiles and invites him to join their teatime, that Demonio stares downward at his hands, flinching whenever Chiliarch addresses him kindly, and completely ignoring Dreadlord’s attempts to offer him cookies. it’s that Demonio doesn’t _do_ this around Royal Guard-- Demonio actually speaks to Royal Guard and openly follows him everywhere-- it’s that Demonio only does this shy puppy thing around _him_.

it’s curious, Dreadlord observes, resting his chin on the back of his hand. from Dreadlord’s lap, Chiliarch gives Demonio a casual look over her teacup and agrees.

so Dreadlord tries. accidentally brushes Demonio’s elbow when he’s sleepily pouring his morning coffee. leans over Demonio’s shoulder when the other demon seems absorbed in his cup. blows a puff of air against the shell of his ear. whereas Royal Guard had abruptly pushed him away and proceeded to lecture him on the proper manners of a demon lord, Demonio only freezes, his pale hand reaching for his neck protectively, turning to look at Dreadlord. Demonio’s usually blank eyes for once holds surprise, _emotion_.

Dreadlord decides he likes it.

he does it again, and again, even as Demonio jumps at every touch. a casual tap on his shoulder becomes a solid perch, a gentle tug at his sleeve becomes a grasp on his wrist, a brush at his bangs becomes a gentle caress through his hair. more and more, Demonio starts to allow it and starts to learn Dreadlord’s kind of tactile affection, until one day Chiliarch finds the both of them sitting on the study room couch, Dreadlord resting his arm casually against Demonio’s shoulder, pretending to read the herbology book Demonio is paging through.

when Dreadlord looks up at her, she has a hand over her mouth and a twinkle of a smile in her eyes. he salutes her with two fingers and she does the same, before moving to crawl onto Dreadlord’s lap and tucking herself in his arms. Demonio only continues to thumb the pages silently, oblivious to her silent arrival.

Diabla peeks in past the door not a few moments later, having followed Chiliarch there. but she’s hesitant and _jealous_ , so Chiliarch takes her by the hand and gently pulls her to them, wrapping herself around Diabla until the other demon allows herself to be comforted.

and when Demonio finally closes the book, Dreadlord only needs to rest a hand on his leg to stop him from getting up. Dreadlord winks, gesturing to their Lu's, fast asleep amid the pillows strewn over the floor, grasps Demonio’s forearm, pulling the confused demon closer to him, and presses a kiss onto his cheek.

Demonio stiffens, again, before relaxing into his touch. and when Dreadlord moves to cover his lips gently with his own, Demonio closes his eyes, unraveling finally, completely.

“let me, Demonio,” Dreadlord murmurs into his skin, fingers rubbing the back of Demonio’s neck gently. his unspoken words loud in his actions. “Demonio.”

_let me care for you._

and Demonio exhales a shuddering breath, tucks his head into the crook of Dreadlord’s neck.


	20. recovery; all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aftermath of the intersection of three. related to 9.
> 
> Noblesse allows Diabla and Demonio to stay and recover.

Diabla would not remove herself from Demonio’s side. Noblesse hesitantly offered to host them until he recovered and Chiliarch agreed. Royal Guard thought they were out of their minds, but Noblesse demanded it and Royal Guard had no choice but to follow her orders.

“he is in fairly bad shape,” Noblesse mutters, as she watches Diabla dress Demonio’s wounds. Royal Guard is sitting at the bedside at Noblesse’s insistence, his splintered hand cradled in a makeshift sling over his shoulder. Demonio’s eyes close as Diabla pulls back and rests him against the pillows.

“I hadn’t noticed he’d gotten this injured,” Diabla admits quietly. “usually, it’s hard for me to tell since he’s drawing so much demon energy that it allows him to bypass the human threshold for pain.”

Royal Guard only looks away. Noblesse places her hand gently on his injured arm.

“you see--” Diabla moves her hands to grasp Demonio’s hand loosely. “when he transcends his human limitation, he can’t control how much demonic power he’ll take. and so he starts losing consciousness of his self.”

“that’s not possible,” Noblesse says, frowning. “at the very least, the contract--”

“the contract was broken,” Diabla interrupts. “I broke it-- because I was foolish and desperate, a-and selfish. -- but I didn’t want to be alone anymore!”

Royal Guard glances up at her outburst and then at Demonio. his breath still stutters, but Royal Guard can see Demonio give her fingers a gentle squeeze.

“I managed to regain my former power on my own,” Diabla continued, her eyes demure. “but as time went on, it took a toll on him-- and he... he… h-he... you would do it too, wouldn’t you?” in a sudden motion, Diabla grabs onto Noblesse’s sleeve, her eyes wild, hysteric. Noblesse stiffens in response. “I had-- no other choice. I couldn’t-- couldn’t-- I can’t live without him!”

Noblesse remains silent, her expression cold and detached, but Royal Guard reaches out his uninjured hand to touch Diabla’s head. Diabla hiccups and nudges into his hand gratefully, and his eyes soften.

after all, even with all her eccentricities, she is still Lu.

-

Chiliarch closes the door silently behind her. it’s late, well past midnight, and she steps quietly into the hallway. in the bleak moonlight, Noblesse stands, her arms crossed, staring out through the glass into the forests. Chiliarch stands next to her in silence, tucking her hands in her cloak.

“to live in eternal loneliness or to let someone you love live in eternal darkness--” Noblesse says finally. “I do not ever want to make that choice.”

“but of course, there exists a world in which we had to,” Chiliarch answers quietly. she glances at Noblesse, in askance, “is _Raulen_ alright?”

“he was asleep as soon as he laid down,” Noblesse sighs. “he struggled to keep himself conscious as we walked back to his room.”

“I feel so bad for him,” Chiliarch says, her lips pouting. “if we were just a few minutes earlier…”

“I am mostly to blame,” Noblesse says shortly. she looks at her hands, clenching them idly. “she was right. he did not have to suffer like he did tonight. and it is only due to my own selfishness.”

Chiliarch gazes at her knowingly. “say, we didn’t come in time? what would you have done, _Noblen_?”

they exist in silence for a moment, before Noblesse replies, “I would have killed her.”

Chiliarch raises a brow. “you were holding back?”

“my entire being exists to facilitate my power between the both of us,” the noble demon says. “if I summoned my power from the depths of the demon world, I would have easily overpowered her.”

“but _Raulen_ would have…”

“yes.” Noblesse closes her eyes. “I would have had to take the risk. I would have retracted my protection of him and he could die-- but he could also reach out to me. if at that point he so wished, it would be his opportunity. I would rather he choose to die than to doom himself to such a fate. but I… will not choose for him. I will only selfishly prevent the opportunity from manifesting.”

“in every waking moment, to deny him,” Chiliarch mutters, then smiles gently. “I don’t have the heart to deny Ciel. he only wants so desperately to protect. he wished for it, and so it was granted. after all, it’s only human to want.”

“you spoil _Drealen_ too much.”

and Chiliarch can not deny it, smiling. “of course. I only want to see Ciel happy.”

“so do I.” Noblesse turns away. “I could feel it from him-- in that moment, Ciel would have done it. if _Drealen_ hadn’t appeared, he would have taken it by force and sought to destroy them both. but… I think she knew… I think she knew and she _wanted_ it even though it would only lead to their destruction. the immense power that she has is spent on playing games, toying with others… but what does she truly desire?”

Chiliarch considers it, before smiling privately to herself. “if you felt this way, why ever did you give her the offer to stay then, _Noblen_?”

“she’s intriguing. her personality, her powers-- she could regain the image of her former self,” Noblesse says. “and her Ciel… he may be a Ciel from a different world… but he is still dear, dear Ciel. is that not why you protected him from your own _Drealen_?”

Chiliarch hums in assent. “ _Deolen_ ,” she said, with certainty. “and _Diablen_?”

and Noblesse laughs, “always, with your nicknames, _Chialen_.”

-

it’s five am when Royal Guard rouses, his wounds aching and his bandages stained with blood. still dazed, he traces his fingers over his bandages gingerly, before standing to stagger toward the sink. it takes him awhile to clean and rebandage most of his wounds, before he’s able to shrug on a pressed shirt and set his right arm in a sling. he leaves his silk ribbon on his table and leaves his hair untied, both too complex for his single uninjured hand to adjust and for his sleep-addled mind to care. he has time to mind his appearance before Noblesse summoned him for breakfast.

the world is quiet, although the birds are aflutter, when he descends to the kitchen. he sets up the coffee machine and leans against the countertop, glancing out the window absently as the water boils.

there’s a short gasp, and Royal Guard nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees the source of the sound.

Diabla. the mere sight of her is enough to send chills down his spine. her eyes are wide and blue, with something just short of surprise, and the shirt she’s wearing is loose, ripped and pale blue-- Demonio’s, he recognizes. her open lips quickly transform into a wide smile, and Royal Guard stumbles back slightly, internally cringing as the counter presses against the wound on his back.

the demon girl’s look cycles through thoughtful, alert, then amused in quick succession, and she takes a step closer to him.

“you really are resilient, aren’t you? I thought Ciel would have done more damage to you.” Diabla’s gaze is mocking, nearly sinister. then she leans back, touching her cheek with finger. she pouts, “I almost envy your master. you’re loyal to a fault.”

Royal Guard does not remove his frightened gaze from her, as she dances around him curiously.

“do you not speak?” her eyes are grinning, smile taunting. “or must I call you like your master does? _Ciel_.”

her voice is so similar to hers that it’s enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck rise. suddenly, a hand comes down on her head, and Diabla’s expression changes immediately to surprise. she whips around and Royal Guard raises his gaze.

Demonio. he has to stamp his instinct to pull Marbas out immediately. even though neither of them are in the state to fight, he’s sure Demonio could kill him if Diabla wanted him to.

“eh, Ciel?” Diabla cocks her head, much more like the Lu he used to know. “I thought I told you to stay in the room while I looked for coffee!”

Demonio doesn’t respond to her, only seeming like a slight, unimposing wisp in one of Royal Guard’s borrowed shirts. his visible eye is a deep, unseeing blue, and his long white hair cascades to obscure the other. Demonio glances at Royal Guard, expression empty, while Diabla seems to have adopted a completely different manner, suddenly energized to shift through the many cabinets in search of something.

coffee, Royal Guard soon realizes. he turns away from the strange duo, reaching up to carefully procure a mug from the cabinet. he places it onto the counter in front of Demonio but Diabla snatches it and pulls the coffee pot from the machine.

“thank you, dear!” Diabla smiles at him innocently, and then with a unexpected tenderness, nudges the filled mug into Demonio’s hand. Diabla reaches up toward the sugar pot, extracting a heaping spoonful and depositing it into the mug. her expression turned thoughtful, and before Demonio could take a sip, she decides to add two more. Diabla fetches another spoonful for good measure and stuck the metal spoon in her mouth. “drink, drink, Ciel!”

Demonio drinks barely half of it before he sets the cup back onto the counter, coughing hoarsely. Diabla seems smugly proud of herself, her chained tail waving slowly in the air. Royal Guard only looks on, in silent fear and trepidation, when finally, Demonio turns to look at Royal Guard again. their gaze connects and he finally sees a conscious, solemn recognition in Demonio’s eyes.

then a quiet: “thank you.”

his voice strikes a familiar chord, if slightly rough from disuse. not as rough-housing casual like Dreadlord’s and not as excessively polite as his own. still, his demeanor is still-- Ciel, he realizes. it’s jarring, though he shouldn’t be surprised. Royal Guard nods gently, his words restrained. “it’s-- no problem.”

“come on, Ciel, we need to get your wounds clean!” Diabla attaches herself to Demonio’s arm, tugging him toward the kitchen door. Demonio turns to look at her, then glances back at Royal Guard again, his eyes deep, dark.

the next words he says are just as quiet, and faltering: “I’m sorry.”

-

when the door finally closes shut behind them, Royal Guard releases a strained breath, collapsing bonelessly against the counter. his wounds ache open and he closes his eyes to will the pain away.

“Ciel, are you alright?”

he starts again, then visibly relaxes when he sees Noblesse standing at the entrance to the kitchen, already dressed in full battle regalia. he lets out a reserved, lightly rattled, “good morning, Lu.”

“how are your wounds healing?” Royal Guard doesn’t answer, his eyes shifting away from her. Noblesse walks over to him, keenly inspecting the new bandages he applied. he fidgets slightly under her exacting gaze, knowing she disapproves of his messy appearance, but she says nothing. she glances to the half-full coffee mug Demonio left, before reaching out to touch his arm gently. her hand is comforting, healing, and Royal Guard closes his eyes. “have you had your morning coffee yet?”

“not yet. I was interrupted.”

Noblesse touches the back of her hand to his cheek, then moves it to his forehead. she considers carefully before stating, “you’re released from your duties today. I will take care of breakfast, Ciel.”

he makes a motion to object but she silences him with a knowing look.

“a good lady knows how to cook,” she states authoritatively. and then, with a small smile, “and also when her dear Ciel needs some much needed rest.”

-

Dreadlord wakes up, limbs heavy and sluggish. he peers groggily at the clock, ringing at at just barely five o’ clock. cursing his sleeping habits, he pulls himself up, extracting himself carefully from Chiliarch’s sleepy but tight grasp. his bones feel battered and bruised, and as he slides out of bed, he feels the chill of the dawn air.

cold, he thinks to himself as he pulls the thick bed covers over Chiliarch. she doesn’t stir awake as she usually does, probably as exhausted from their trip into the Underground as he is. Dreadlord stares at her sleeping form in a daze, and her hands twitch, empty-handed. he moves a pillow toward her and Chiliarch grasps it and nuzzles into it, her lips pouted.

cute, he thinks, then pulls away from the bed to dress himself. he notes the bandages faintly as he shrugs on a shirt, rubbing a finger against the bloodied cloth. as they loosen, he stares at the healing scars across his chest and along his arms.

he doesn’t remember where he got those, but they burn as the cloth chafes against them. Dreadlord exits the room, and descends the stairs, and opens the door to the kitchen to see Noblesse.

Dreadlord blinks slowly, then quickly, when his brain catches up. “... where’s Royal Guard?”

Noblesse turns to give him a critical onceover, before returning her eyes to the pot. “I’m surprised you’d expect him to be here, _Drealen_. that being said, you missed him by a few minutes. I sent him back to his room to rest.”

the picture of Noblesse cooking doesn’t quite square with him. Dreadlord drags a hand through his hair, closing his eyes firmly, before moving past her to the coffee.

he’s taking a long, thoughtful sip, when Noblesse says, “his affinity for constancy never ceases to surprise me. especially after what happened last night.”

last night. Dreadlord coughs, choking on the bitterness as the memories come back to him. last night. when he opens his eyes, he sees Noblesse arch a thin brow at him. “I have yet to understand why both of you insist on that disgusting drink.”

Dreadlord frowns as he deposits his empty mug into the sink, ignoring her comment on the coffee. “Royal Guard-- how is he?”

“still recovering, slightly feverish,” Noblesse says, clipped, and Dreadlord’s frown deepens. her eyes studiously avoid his and he knows Royal Guard’s probably worse off than she’s letting on. she brings the spoon to taste the porridge, then quietly, “though, you are not much better off, _Drealen_. you should be grateful _Chialen_ had the mind to stop you.”

“she shouldn’t have,” he says, voice quiet, incensed.

Noblesse looks up at him, her lips tightening. “are you angry with me, _Drealen_?”

angry does not even begin to describe what he’s feeling. he wants to grab the bow on her blouse and tighten it around her throat to wipe that smug smile off her face--

and then, he stops. he sees the Lu in her crystal blue eyes, and instead, he lets out a deep, frustrated breath. Noblesse raises a hand to touch his chin, and he allows it, eyes averted stubbornly from hers.

this is precisely what Chiliarch is afraid of and it seems both of them know it. with Chiliarch, it’s fine-- but the way Noblesse looks down on him drives him insane.

“thank you,” she says simply, before turning her eyes back to the stove. Dreadlord feels somehow, the distant emptiness in her voice, and he wonders, if perhaps the reason Royal Guard never speaks much to her is that there’s nothing he can say that she doesn’t already know.

when his heart finally stops beating in his ears and his mind calms down, Dreadlord decides to ask, a touch accusingly, “why did you let them stay?”

she tastes the soup, smiling to herself. “ _Diablen_ is intriguing, of course. she is another version of myself, with different personality and powers. for what other reason did I let _Chialen_ and you stay?”

she’s avoiding his question. five in the morning is too early to have to talk to her. pointedly, Dreadlord asks, “but why him?”

“do you mean _Deolen_?” her eyes are sharp and he looks away from her again.

“De--” he can’t finish the word. it reeks of familiarity and acceptance and he can’t believe of all people, Noblesse has already forgiven him. “yes, the demon.”

“ _Demonio_.” her voice is gentle and delicate and the lofty care in her voice is grating on his nerves. “he has a name, _Drealen_.”

“have you gone absolutely insane?”

“I have not,” she says sternly. “I say this time and time again, _Drealen_. there is power in being kind. but you don’t ever understand.”

Dreadlord looks away, eyes skirting across the kitchen. “you would be kind to someone who intends to kill you? please, Noblesse, you of all people should know better.”

Noblesse levels a piercing look at him, but his defiance does not abate. “ _Drealen_ , I’m aware that you see them as threats, but what happened last night proved to me that they are not,” she says, impossibly calmly. “please do not fool yourself. you and _Chialen_ were incredibly tired when you returned from your war. had _Deolen_ not stopped himself, you would not have had enough strength to fight him.”

Dreadlord scoffs, though the aches in his bones argue otherwise. he glances out at the rising sun. “so you would have sacrificed Ciel to save him?”

the spoon drops, clacks onto the stove. Dreadlord glances at Noblesse, before noticing with a faint smirk that, her thin shoulders are shaking. soon enough, she composes herself, but not before giving him a look that could cut steel.

“I treasure Ciel more than anything else in this world,” she says sharply. “I will not be tested, least of all by you, _Drealen_.”

Dreadlord’s smile is wry, when he reaches to grasp her fingers. Noblesse bristles as he tilts his head in a mock bow. “then I will hold you to your word, my Noblesse.”

 


	21. hark the herald angels sing; dl/dm, ch, db

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (angel!au) Dreadlord / Demonio, Chiliarch, Diabla
> 
> Dreadlord - Misha  
> Chiliarch - Lili  
> Demonio - Luci / Lucifer  
> Diabla - Anne
> 
> _hark the herald angels sing_

the angel was beautiful. a lithe, powerful being, a crown of gold resting upon wispy, long white hair. elegant, arched wings with feathers of light. a pulsing electric power searing in those fingertips. and glowing, haunting blue eyes.

the angel as bright as the morning star.

the angel who preys upon other angels--

/

Misha opens his eyes to the pitch darkness. his heart burns, because the body remembers when the mind does not, and he stumbles out of bed toward the table, grasping for the glass of water.

his memories are faint and the only thing he remembers are those blue eyes. he sits in the darkness, the silence as his only companion, glass grasped loosely in his hands. the clock ticks as he tries to think.

he doesn’t remember when he closes his eyes.

/

“who is--?” but Misha stops. Lili is rubbing at his hand soothingly, but her eyes are sad. why is she sad?

“who is?” Lili echoes him. she places a hand on his forehead, but he does nothing but shake. “who?”

Misha places a hand on his chest, clenching at the pain gnawing in his core.

“maybe,” she says, more to herself than to him. “it’s best if you don’t remember, Misha.”

/

he was born a soldier. that was his name-- _Mikhail_. that’s what they called him.

‘Misha’ was what Lili called him. the little girl who made him feel human, the only one who let him pretend he wasn’t a machine. even though she wasn’t just ‘a little girl.’ even though she was his handler, his caretaker, his protector.

‘Misha’ was what _he_ called him too. the one who made him believe he was truly human.

but he wasn’t. _they_ weren’t.

/

“Lucifer.”

Misha blinks, looks up from where he’s kneeling on the ground.

“who?” it’s first time he spoken to them, the first time he looked up at them, they who were but figures of shadow. their silence only emboldens him. he asks, voice trembling with anger, “who is Lucifer?”

“Mikheil, we’ve given you an order.”

“who is Lucifer?!”

“Misha,” Lili says, her eyes clear, but her voice shaking. “that’s Luci now. remember? Luci is gone.”

/

_“take care of Lili, okay, Misha?”_

_“what are you saying, Luci? I always do.”_

_the other angel only chuckles, but there’s a sadness Misha wants to push away. so he kisses the back of his neck and Luci shakes his head and smiles in that frail broken way._

_“I don’t-- know when it’ll happen,” Luci says. Misha doesn’t understand. “but I just want you to know. I want you to protect-- Lili. Anne. yourself. alright? could you do this for me?”_

_Misha hugs the other angel closer to him, presses their hands together. “I will-- always. but why?”_

_Luci closes his eyes, doesn’t respond. Misha wraps the both of them in his wings. in this peace, they could forget._

/

“why didn’t you tell me?” but Misha can’t get angry at her, so his arms only fall uselessly to his side.

“I did, but you didn’t believe me,” Lili says, and she’s as frustrated and upset as he is. “Misha, you knew-- I knew-- this is what he was _made_ for.”

“what happened to Anne?” Misha snaps out. “where was she when he finally needed her?”

but Lili shakes her head, her eyes brimming with tears. Misha pulls her into a hug, grasping at her small body in some semblance of comfort. to him and to her.

“she’s dead,” Lili finally says. “she told Luci to kill her.”

“what?” he doesn’t understand. “why?”

“I don’t know. I don’t _know_ , Misha. but _Luci_ \--” she cries. “ _Luci_ didn’t deserve any of this.”

/

Misha remembers now. Luci went berserk-- a rogue angel without a handler to limit him, a kind soul reduced to a hollow shell. and when Misha went to find him, _Lucifer_ attacked him, burned a hole through his chest, missing his core.

but Lucifer doesn’t miss. they told him, Lucifer’s far too effective at his job. he’s killed half their angels, injured many more in his indiscriminate rage. Misha was one of the ones that survived. naturally, they asked Misha to eliminate him.

why were the angels created?

Misha doesn’t know. he stalks through the broken streets, spinning a dagger in his hand. the war is long over, and the humans are far from picking up the pieces. his steps against the metal grate stairs echo in the silence.

did the humans believe they could be gods?

he’s tired of the games they play.

Lucifer is standing at the edge of the building, his wings hung limply behind him, blank blue eyes gazing into the abyss. Misha remembers that this is how they had met, with Luci peering from the edge of a building, shy wings trembling in the chilly air. and Misha tackled him off the building with glee, his wings unfurling only when Luci screamed in terror. Lili scolded him then for giving the poor angel a scare and Luci only shook like a feather, looking as if he was going to cry.

did Luci cry then too? when his humanity was ripped away from him?

this time, Lili isn’t here. he asked her not to come. one by one, Misha drops his daggers to the ground and Lucifer shifts slightly toward the source of the sounds. his eyes are piercing, unseeing, a deep emptiness meeting his fiery sorrow.

this time, when they fall, Misha doesn’t open his wings.

/

/

/

_“they’re planning to destroy Misha.”_

_Anne clicks her tongue when Luci winces._

_“how are they going to do that? Misha is their strongest angel.”_

_“there is a way,” Anne says coldly. “they do have an angel-killer.”_

_Luci doesn’t answer, at lost for words, and a cry blossoms in his throat. he chokes, “no-- no. I-- I can’t kill Misha.”_

_“I know, dear, I know,” Anne smiles gently. then her smile disappears. “and they know. either they’re going to ask me order you or they will give you a new handler who will.”_

_“Anne--”_

_“Luci.” and she touches his hair. “I am sorry. they can only take you from me when I’m dead.”_

_he bows his head. “Anne…”_

_“the meeting is in two hours. I want you set up on the adjacent building a little before then. when I give you the signal, I want you to shoot.”_

_Luci swallows, stifling his tears. “I understand.”_

_“good.”_

Luci sets up his rifle on the window. it’s a little past noon, in time for the meeting; it didn’t take long to dispatch the humans guarding the building. as he trains his sight to the window, he hears their voices filter through his headset.

_“where is your angel?”_

“he isn’t needed, is he?” Anne’s voice. Luci can see her step forward, so she’s in plain sight of the window. the wind blows, but not much. “you only need me here, don’t you?”

_“do you understand the situation you are in, Anne? summon_ Lucifer _.”_

she place her hand on her chest. “I emphatically refuse.”

_“this is not a suggestion. you have already refused to carry out our original order. if necessary, we will reassign_ Lucifer’s _handler by force.”_

Anne laughs, and it sends chills down Luci’s spine.

“by force? do you think it’s that simple? I will not allow it.”

_“this is your final warning, Anne. if you do not call your angel...”_

“then you will what? kill me? that’s funny,” and she smiles. “Luci listens only to me. Luci only answers to _me_. Luci will _always_ obey _me_. if I’m dead, there is no way you can control him.”

then Anne turns toward the window and locks her eyes with Luci. the craze in her eyes unnerves him to his core, and he swallows to steady his grip.

_“Anne, this is your third count of insubordination. if you do not obey this instant--”_

Anne only smiles.

“Luci. kill me.”

he doesn’t blink.

when the shot rings out and the glass shatters, his rifle clatters to the ground. his hands are shaking, his vision is blurring, and Luci grips his head, tears falling from his eyes. the invisible chains binding him for his existence disappear with each beat of Anne’s slowing heartbeat.

_Anne_.

Luci screams.


End file.
